Drawing Fire, and other Gleeful Tales
by GrimJack21502
Summary: My take on what the new school year would be like for the remaining members of New Directions, and how new characters like Charlie, Blake, and Nellie, cast from The Glee Project 2, would fit into the tale of McKinley High. All returning members will appear, as will the established faculty. Includes Episodes: Drawing Fire and Wishing Well in Progress
1. Drawing Fire Scene 1

Without the formality of even a BreadStiX's dinner, the new school year stole the innocence of the summer and left it where all the prized but lost items of our youth end up…memory.

McKinley High bustled with the active chaos inherent to any group that has yet to experience the weight of a normal Monday. Cliques, herds born in time immemorial, had already reformed with little changed in their pecking order or composition; the leaders still led, the followers still followed.

Like every High School, McKinley was in all intents-and-purposes a very predictable place. Every four years saw a turnover in the student body but not the student mind. The brick-and-mortar Beast lived on, rehashing the same stories of love and hate, power and weakness, similarity and difference…good and evil. If one waited long enough, they could watch the same tales told in the same ways with only the players' faces changed in the telling.

And so this year began like all those before it, promising nothing new for any that watched the metaphorical stage that was McKinley High. Seemingly charted for another course through the tired and told tales of adolescence, none noticed the lone young woman expertly weaving her way through the hallways, removed from the sights and minds of the student body. Alone, by design, in the Body Academic, she carried with her a tale very rare to the halls she slipped through…a story not seen in decades.

But like all tales unique enough to get their own telling, it is only proper to start at the beginning.

* * *

'Two more years. Half over. I can do this,' thought Nellie, as she unconsciously slipped into an empty chemistry lab to avoid a group of Cheerios that swept through the spot she had occupied a second earlier. The garbled noise of simultaneous conversation surrounded the red-and-white clad cheerleaders, and not one of them even noticed the girl they had almost run over.

Which was exactly the way Nellie liked it.

As a child her grandfather, an ancient, silver-haired man, had taken her to his garden. Many parents used kitchens, bedrooms, or offices for important talks, but men of her grandfather's generation found a well-tended garden to be the best forum for the delineation of life's lessons learned. She could still remember the rough and prickly scratch of his calloused hands over hers and the difficulty she had matching the long stride of his thin legs, as they traveled down the grassy hill and past the great walnut tree to his sancta sanctorum.

Most of his lessons, Nellie carried with her and used more often than any teenager would ever admit, but it was one teaching in particular that had become her one and only commandment during her time at McKinley.

'Don't draw fire, Little Girl', he had warned, 'Don't draw your enemies eyes to you.'

Over the last two years, she had perfected the art of invisibility, rendering herself below the attention of the entire school. In so doing, she had escaped all of the maliciousness and degradation gifted to so many of her peers. No bullying, no rumors, and thank god no slushies…she was unscarred, but her invisibility had come at a price. No one at McKinley called her 'friend' and very few even knew her name. Nellie kept telling herself it was worth it, that the cons vastly outweighed the pros. For every friendship she might be able to cultivate, the rest of the school, the bullies, the Croparazzi, and the wicked would begin to see her, and before she would have a chance to escape, her image would end up on a Facebook page…defamed, disgraced.

This new 'social' world was not kind to the teenager, and Nellie knew this better than most. Enemy soldiers were everywhere, waiting to fire smartphones instead of lead with the former just as lethal as the latter. One wrong move captured on the internet; a sneeze, an errant comment, a simple mistake, and one could find themselves ridiculed for the rest of their High School existence. Nellie couldn't stomach the thought of a life lived that way, so two years ago she had turned invisible and in-so-doing had never drawn fire.

Approaching her locker, she quickly scanned for any potential encounters before spinning the combination lock, opening the metal portal, and hiding in the limited cover it provided. With practiced hands, she scooped up the things she needed and moved to deposit the notebooks from her last class, but before she could finish, the impossible happened, someone spoke…to her.

'How was your Summer?"

At first she thought she would just continue with her routine and pretend the comment had been directed at someone else, but Nellie knew otherwise. The question had come from the locker beside her, the one hidden by the worn metal of her own door, the locker that had been Rachel Berry's before she had graduated last Spring. On occasion, Rachel had said 'hi' to her, but this voice wasn't hers; in fact it wasn't a 'her' voice at all.

'Hey,' a knock sounded from the other side of her locker door, 'didn't mean to intrude. Just looking to shake a few of these nerves before I have to actually, you know, learn. Wow, that makes me sound like a meathead. I like school, not like Mathlete level 'like'…not that there's anything wrong with being a Mathlete. Please tell me you're not a Mathlete.'

There was a pause and an anxious, shuffling sound, like one simultaneously fumbling words and a football.

'I should probably go. Sorry to spill my crazy all over you.'

Before she could stop herself, Nellie's voice made its first appearance in the halls of McKinley,

'It was…fine. My Summer was fine, and 'no' I'm not a Mathlete.'

Her books and notebooks swapped, she had but one thing left to do, close her locker door. With a steadying breath, Nellie slowly shut it and faced the first student to ever engage her in a conversation that spanned multiple syllables. She should've noticed his handsome features, shaggy yet perfectly styled hair, or athletic build first, but they all faded as she fell into his warm smile. Lightning lasted longer than the moment they shared; but sometimes, every-so-often, a heartbeat was all that was needed to change one's life. Quickly she looked over his shoulder, then down to the ground; anywhere but his face.

'Blake Ryan,' his large hand appeared in her field of vision, 'First day here, so please don't write me off as 'imbalanced' or something.'

Before she was forced to decide between the dangers of shaking his hand and NOT shaking his hand, a nightmarish sound oozed from farther up the hallway.

'Alright, instant poll!' an obnoxious voice declared, 'Who's hot and who's not!'

Nellie froze. Oh, Jesus…the Croparazzi.

The standard-bearers for the social bullying trend in American High Schools, the Croparazzi held the whole of McKinley in a state of constant anxiety. The evolution of the 'rag-mag' tabloids of the last century and the yellow journalism of a hundred years prior, they manufactured stories and manipulated pics to tell the tales they wanted. Friends of the vile group enjoyed a falsely inflated social status made possible by the Croparazzi's expert manipulation of all things Internet, provided, of course, these 'friends' blew the appropriate amount of smoke up the appropriate places.

And for those that did not know the favor of the powerful clique? Well they found themselves the victims of 'Crop-lifting', where their image would be added to anything and everything a detestable mind could imagine. Experts as they were, the 'truth' hardly mattered when these pics went online. Propaganda, executed by the powerful, made its own truth.

Their defacto leader was a junior named Charlie Booth, a John Cusack look-a-like that held a repulsive soul beneath his handsome features. He had been personally responsible for the Croparazzi's rise to power, and now looked to start the new year off right, by reminding McKinley that the sheriff was back in town.

Before a freshman knew it, Charlie had shoved his iPhone in her face and snapped a quick pic. So shocked by the attention of an older boy, the girl actually smiled and blushed, but before she could enjoy the moment, Charlie quickly posted the photo online and said to the rest of the Croparazzi.

'This fatty won't even make it out of the pre-lims. Jesus, I can barely fit her cheeks in frame!'

Nellie watched in sadness, as the freshman girl's face fell and tears welled up in her blue eyes. Her friends, sensing that the 'weak gazelle' might drag them down too, moved away from the devastated girl, leaving her alone in the wash of humanity that was McKinley.

Like snipers in a target-rich environment, Charlie and the Croparazzi swept down the hall snapping pics of every female they encountered. Some, like the poor freshman, were left with a vicious verbal wound to tend, but all the girls were left with the impression that they had just been violated.

Realizing she had lingered too long, Nellie panicked, ignored Blake's still extended hand, and looked for an escape route…but none existed. Quickly reaching over her shoulder, she grabbed her hood, pulled it over her head, and hoped her last line of defense would hold. But even though she was now partially hidden, the quick motion had earned her some unwanted attention, when Charlie, ever the predator, noticed the movement and moved closer.

At five paces, Booth raised his smartphone and readied for the killing shot.

At three paces, Charlie fired…only to capture the sky-blue of Blake's t-shirt.

At the last moment, Blake Ryan's large form had moved in between Nellie and Charlie, and just like that, she was hidden again, safe. Slipping from behind Blake, she melted back into the faceless mass of McKinley and returned to her invisibility, but as she moved into the crowd, she heard her grandfather's warning

'Don't draw fire.'

Risking a glance back, her stomach tightened, when she saw the look on Charlie's face as he stared at Blake, as he stared at the boy that had robbed him of his fun.

'Don't draw your enemy's eyes to you…'

She froze, and the thought of escape began to be replaced with concern for someone she hadn't really even met. But in the end, Nellie's 'training' and instincts carried her away from the scene, and within just a few seconds, she was gone.

'I don't know you,' with a smile that seemed sincere, Charlie stuck his hand out, 'Lets change that. Charlie Booth, welcome to McKinley.'

Blake's hesitation lasted only a second, but Charlie caught it; just as Blake had caught Charlie's treatment of the freshman girl. Taking the offered hand, Blake tried and failed to hide his contempt,

'Blake Ryan. It's my first day.'

'Your first day, my how exciting!' Charlie deftly released Blake's hand, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and brought his iPhone up, taking a picture of them both, 'There! Our first meeting captured for all time. Will McKinley ever be the same?'

With a wink, Charlie released Blake and stepped back toward his group. The rest of the Croparazzi had moved closer to their leader and now formed a semi-circle around him, providing Booth with the 'intimidation factor' deserving a villain of his stature.

'Mr. Ryan, I'll let the rumor mill fill you in on me and mine,' he spread his arms, presenting the rest of the Croparazzi like a proud parent, 'And when they do, know that I'm giving you a 'pass' since it's your first da…'

But before Charlie could finish his threat, someone from behind the Croparazzi interrupted him.

'Oh my God, I forgot how annoying your voice is, Chuck. Between your pontificating here and Romney's insanity on TV, I'm going to have to start wearing ear muffs and humming just to make it through the day.'

The fake smile bled from Charlie's face. The crowd, sensing the tension on an almost animalistic level, parted to give Charlie Booth and the newcomer space, as a pride would part for two alpha-males. Turning slowly, the 'social bully' lowered his gaze, so he could stare his adversary in the eye.

From his wheelchair, Artie Abrams smirked up at Charlie and matched his sinister gaze with one of utter indifference, daring the bully to practice his trade on him.

Up to the task, Booth tilted his head and spoke with a voice drenched in condescension.

'Why if it isn't old 'Double A', or is it 'Triple A'? Damn if I can keep it straight,' with a nearly palpable arrogance, Charlie fired a wink at Artie before he finished, 'The wheels always throw me off.'

Artie smiled,

'Guess my wheels and your ex-girlfriends have a lot in common.'

Giggles floated out of the growing crowd.

Charlie snapped a pic of Artie and looked down at his iPhone,

'I think I'll tag this one 'handy-capable asshat'.'

Bringing his fingers together in the classic 'movie director' frame, Artie pretended to take a picture of his own and winked at Charlie between the rectangles of his fingerless gloves,

'And I think I'll call this one 'Bag of douche'.

More giggles floated past the dueling pair.

Laughing himself, Charlie dismissed Artie and motioned for the Croparazzi to follow him, but spared one last glance at Blake before leaving,

'Lets get out of here,' Booth said to his stable of wolves, 'I think we'll take the stairs.'


	2. Drawing Fire Scene 2

Once the Croparazzi had taken their wave of terror elsewhere, Artie wheeled over to Blake and smiled,

'Wish I could tell you that he's harmless, but I'd be a liar, if I did.'

Blake and Artie quickly shook hands and exchanged introductions.

'Blake Ryan…I really didn't see this day starting this way. Damn, why do I feel like I've just been sucker punched? '

'Artie Abrams, doesn't matter how you start, Mr. Blake Ryan, but how you finish…that's why boxing matches have more than one round.'

Blake laughed but the worry didn't leave his face, haunting his eyes with the specter of future conflicts against a new and very powerful enemy. Interrupting his introspection, Ryan found a flyer placed into his hand by Artie.

With a confused look, he read it aloud,

'National Champions, McKinley High School's New Directions, looking for new voices to join ours. Try-outs Tuesday after school in the auditorium. Any questions, see a member or faculty adviser, William Schuester.'

After a lengthy pause, Blake stammered,

'I…I don't really sing…that's what this is right?'

Before Artie could clarify, a vision in red and white bounced over to the pair, carrying a very decorative box filled with what looked like oddly shaped cookies.

Without introducing herself, the Cheerio thrust the box at Blake,

'If you vote for me for president, you can have a cookie. Each of them is a kama-sutra pose of Lord Tubbington, so they have nuts in them obviously. So don't eat one, if that'll like kill you or something. I can't handle another political scandal.'

Artie presented one of the school's more eccentric students,

'May I introduce McKinley's first senior president to seek re-election, Brittany Pierce. Brittany, this is Mr. Blake Ryan, he's not having a very good day.'

With a brilliant smile, Brittany handed Blake a cookie,

'Hi.'

Having reached the extent of her attention span, Brittany waved at the pair and moved on to other potential voters, offering each a piece of feline erotica in cookie-form.

Confused beyond his capacity to comprehend, Blake simply leaned against his locker, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. It was only then that he thought to look for Nellie, but after a quick scan, he realized she had disappeared.

'I didn't even get her name,' Blake raised the cookie to his mouth but Artie's gloved hand grabbed his opposite forearm, causing him to stop and look down at the senior.

'I wouldn't eat that, if I were you,' Artie warned

'Thanks for that,' Blake put the cookie in his locker and closed the door, 'and for helping me with Charlie Whats-his-name, but like I was saying, I don't really sing…not in public anyway. I mean that's what you do in,' he glanced back at the flyer, 'New Directions, right?'

'It is,' Artie said and started the wheel down the hall, 'But that's not all.'

Catching up to him, Blake took up a position beside Artie,

'Don't get me wrong, I'd love to meet some people and hang out, but I…I mean singing, out loud. Maybe I could just watch for awhile, or something.'

Shaking his head, Artie said,

'Normally that would be just fine, but I don't get that vibe from you. You need to jump in with both feet, Mr. Blake Ryan…just like you did for the girl back there.'

The junior's eyes widened slightly,

'The girl with the locker beside mine…do you know her name? '

With a deft move, Artie wheeled ninety degrees, cut off Blake, and looked up,

'I do.'

Blake waited politely, until he realized Artie had no intention of continuing. Finally, he lifted an eyebrow quizzically and ventured,

'Well…?'

'Well that all depends on you, Mr. Blake Ryan,' the senior smiled coyly.

'Depends on what?'

'Whether or not you are the fighter I think you are.'

Before Blake could continue questioning the cryptic Artie Abrams, the senior reached over his shoulder, produced a wire from his backpack and plugged it into his smartphone. A few swipes and taps later, and music erupted from the cleverly concealed speakers along the frame of his wheelchair.

Without warning Artie spun back around and wheeled down the hall bringing with him both the first notes of the Gym Class Heroes and a still confused Blake Ryan.

The time for talking was over, so Artie Abrams turned to what he did best, he sang,

_'Just wakin' up in the mornin'_

_In the B well_

_Quite honest with ya,_

_I ain't really sleep well_

_Ya ever feel like your train a thoughts been derailed?_

_That's when you press on. Lee nails.'_

Accustomed to the impromptu performances of New Directions, the majority of McKinley simply ignored Artie's rap, but Blake did notice a few of the other students, including a few jocks, nodded their heads with the beat as they passed.

_'Half the population just waiting to see me fail_

_Yeah, right, you better off trying to freeze hell  
_

_Ha, some of us do afford the females_

_And others do afford the retails'_

Blake watched in awe, as Artie effortlessly sang to the whole of McKinley, above the judgmental eyes of students like Charlie Booth…above everything and everyone. He seemed 'bigger' than those around him, and before Blake knew it, his head was bobbing with the pulse of the music.

_'But I do it for the kids life through the Tower Inn  
_

_Or every time we fall it's only making your chin strong  
_

_And I'll be in yer corner like Mick, baby  
_

_'Til the end or when you hear the song from that big lady'_

Suddenly Brittany reappeared, and performed a one-handed cartwheel right in front of Artie, keeping her box of cookies perfectly level with her free arm.

'I feel like I just fell down a rabbit-hole', thought Blake as he continued to watch in wonder. What else could he do?

But Artie didn't want a solo, he wanted a duet, and when he started the next verse, moving from his melodic rap to equally powerful singing, he looked up at Blake and started a countdown with his fingers. It took Blake 'two' of his allotted 'five' seconds before he finally realized that when the countdown ended, Artie meant for him to sing.

The junior tried to argue, but Brittany took his hand and twirled beneath his hold like a ballerina.

Artie continued,

-5-

_'Until the referee rings the bell'_

-4-

_'Until both your eyes start to swell'_

-3-

_'__Until the crowd goes home'_

-2-

_'What we gonna do ya'll?_

-1-

Rolling in a perfect 180 degrees, Artie pulled directly in front of Blake and Brittany, and pointed at the junior. Pausing for only a second, Ryan looked around, licked his lips…and sang,

_'Give 'em hell, turn their heads'_

Artie's smile seemed to engulf his face, and he raised his gloved-hands like a DJ, flowing with the music.

_'Gonna live life 'til we're dead''_

_Give me scars, give me pain'_

With each line, Blake got a little louder, a little stronger, and felt a little less awkward.

_'Then they'll say to me, say to me, say to me'_

Artie cupped his gloved hand to his ear, as if he awaited the response posed by the lyrics.

Blake, fully caught in the rush of the newly found unknown, caught Brittany as she twirled by and pulled her into a half-walk, half-strut.

_'There goes a fighter!'_

Flanking him as he charged down the hall, Artie and Brittany yelled out a simultaneous, _'OHHHHH!'_

_'There goes a fighter!'_

_ 'OHHHHH!'_

_'Here comes a fighter!'_

_ 'OHHHHH!'_

Then all three kids started to sing together,

_'That's what they'll say to me, say to me, say to me'_

_'This one's a fighter'_

Swinging ahead of the boys, Brittany grabbed Artie's chair, spun him so he was rolling backward, and placed him right in front of the still strutting Blake, like a trainer riding in front of a jogging boxer.

Motioning for Blake to follow, Artie returned to his rap, as Brittany sped them down the hall,

_'And if I can last 30 rounds_

_There's no reason you should ever have your head down_

_6 foot 5, 220 pounds_

_Hailing from rock bottom, loserville, nothing town'_

Blake started running to catch up to the speeding Brittany and Artie…looking more and more like the proverbial fighter in training.

_'The textbook version of a kid going nowhere fast_

_And now I'm yelling kiss my ass!_

_It's gonna take a couple right hooks, a few left jabs_

_For you to recognize you really ain't got it bad'_

Finally, Brittany stopped her mad dash just outside the choir room door, and she and Artie turned back toward Blake, together challenging him with the next lyrics,

_'Until the referee rings the bell_

_Until both your eyes start to swell_

_Until the crowd goes home_

_What we gonna do ya'll?'_

Blake smiled and threw his backpack down, completely invested in the impromptu concert, and with power and passion, he sang,

_'Give 'em hell, turn their heads_

_Gonna live life 'til we're dead_

_Give me scars, give me pain_

_Then they'll say to me, say to me, say to me'_

Raising his arms over his head and closing his eyes, Blake pumped his fist higher and higher, building with the song's crescendo,

_'There goes a fighter!'_

Again, Brittany and Artie joined in with, _'OHHHH!'_

_'There goes a fighter!'_

_'OHHHH!'_

_'Here comes a fighter!'_

_'OHHHH!'_

_'That's what they'll say to me, say to me, say to me_

_This one's a fighter'_

Suddenly, the music stopped and the general cacophony of McKinley's hallways regained its dominance. Snapped from his performance, Blake opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of Brittany and Artie exiting into the choir room. Before he could call out, Artie's voice flowed back to him,

'See you in the auditorium tomorrow afternoon, and I'll have that name for you…fighter.'

Dumbfounded, Blake simply stood and stared. A moment later the bell sounded, starting the next block of classes.

Trying to get both his physical and mental bearings, Blake Ryan looked around and asked one question that had several meanings,

'Where the hell am I?'

(Author's Note: Gym Class Heroes - The Fighter)


	3. Drawing Fire Scene 3

The shadows at McKinley High were few and far between. Most of the school reflected the Lima Board of Education's 'feng shui' approach to education; light and airy to put the students at ease and give them a sense of safety. But for one that needed the camouflage granted by the dark, the building seemed that much more dangerous.

Luckily for Nellie, one of the rare McKinley shadows did exist just down the hall from the choir room, and it was from there that she watched Blake Ryan finish his song, pick up his backpack, and move off, presumably looking for his next class. She wanted to leave the darkness and thank him for helping her with the Croparazzi, but she just wasn't capable of that type of 'openness'. Instead she put her back against the wall and slid down to the floor, ignoring the fact that she had a class to attend too.

'Coward,' Nellie snapped at herself in a vicious whisper.

'What am I supposed to do?' she thought, 'Change what's kept me safe? Expose myself to the Charlie Booths of McKinley? Draw fire? Who would willingly be that crazy?'

'Blake Ryan,' she whispered cynically.

Nellie tried to pass off the emotions warring inside her as nothing more than the guilt associated with dragging a boy like Blake into something that he could have avoided, but she knew that wasn't the whole story. The truth, though she fought with herself to admit it, was that she had 'liked' the seconds they had had together before Charlie's arrival. For the briefest of instances, she had felt 'normal', with her usual uneasiness being replaced by the much more welcome adrenaline rush of simple human interaction.

It seemed like Life had thrown her down the steps again and left her to try and make sense of feelings and events beyond a sixteen-year-olds wheelhouse. Most teenagers, the lucky ones, had a mother or father or both to mine for advice, even if they pretended like they didn't need it. All Nellie wanted was just a 'course heading', something or someone to set her bearings and get her moving in the right direction.

But she wasn't one of the 'lucky' ones; there wasn't anyone waiting in the wings to act as her compass. Just like when she walked the halls of McKinley, outside of its walls, she was still alone…invisible.

Somehow a tear had snuck out of the corner of her eye, and with a look of exasperation, Nellie roughly wiped it away with the palm of her hand; angry at herself for letting the moment beat her. No, she would get through this, and all the moments that would come after it, until she was able to get out of McKinley, out of Lima, out of this life…and just start over somewhere else. Somewhere where she could finally let the world see her.

Standing up, she quit the shadows and moved down the hall in the opposite direction of Blake. For a second, Nellie thought about doubling around and going to her class late, but she quickly dismissed the idea. It wasn't like they would even notice that she wasn't there. Sometimes invisibility had its advantages.

Outside it began to rain.


	4. Drawing Fire Scene 4

(Faculty Lounge - Lunch)

From the touch-screen of his iPhone, the boyish face of Finn Hudson stared up at him. Though just a still, static image, Will could 'see' him move, dance, and sing. In his memories, he saw the boy, now a man, wearing a simple red shirt and jeans and singing with all of his heart and talent. At first, Finn had been his 'find', his 'project', but it didn't take long before the boy had become much, much more. Above all the other students he had taught and even above all the other members of New Directions, Finn Hudson was special. So special, in fact, that when he looked at the picture or simply thought of the boy he had known, he didn't think of him as a former student; hell, he didn't even think of him as a friend. No, when Will thought of Finn Hudson, he thought of his son.

A son that had gone willingly to war.

Drawing his gaze from the past and returning it to the picture on his screen, Will focused once more on the young man looking back at him, the young man with the shaved head. The pictured showed Finn with a half-smile, pointing at his nearly bald head, and the caption that had accompanied the text read, 'Do I look like Jason Statham? Break a leg this year, Mr. Schue!' Despite the drastic change, the young man still looked much like he had when he had captained New Directions to a National title, but his eyes, even in the still digital picture, looked older. In his short time away from Lima, Finn Hudson seemed weathered, haunted.

At least to William Schuester.

'You know that kid might be on to something,' a familiar voice came from over his shoulder, 'You could learn a lesson from him, shave off that Philly cheesesteak you call a hair-do, and hope that Mother Nature gives you a 'do-over'...so to speak.'

Before she even came into his field of vision, Will put his phone away and muttered in mock disgust,

'Hi, Sue.'

'William,' Sue Sylvester stated simply as she slowly lowered herself into the chair across from him, careful to avoid brushing her large belly against the cafeteria table.

Smiling at his on-again, off-again enemy, Will turned the conversation away from the painful subject of Finn Hudson and opted instead for the benign talk inherent with the new school year.

'How's your squad look?,' he asked referring to Sue's multi-talented and, in some cases, brainwashed group of infamous cheerleaders known as the Cheerios.

Taking a sip from an obnoxiously large water-bottle, Sue sneered her response between gulps,

'If I snatched a dozen newborn deer away from their mothers, stapled a Cheerio uniform on them, and shot them with tasers, they would have more coordination than the group of losers William McKinley High has given me this year.'

'That sounds a bit harsh, Sue,' Will grinned, 'Even for you.'

Putting the water-bottle down, the driven coach rolled her eyes.

'You haven't seen them, Will. They look so,' she leaned in as close as her belly would allow and whispered, 'average'.

'Well that's where you come in, Sue. I'm sure you can whip them into shape. In fact, you're probably the only one that can.'

Satisfied with Will's compliment, Sue turned the conversation back on him.

'What about your little club? What's its name again?', she snapped her fingers as if trying to remember it.

With a smile, Will obliged her pseudo-insult, if only to get her to her eventual point.

'New Directions.'

Pointing at Will, Sue smiled,

'New Directions! I thought it was something generic and appropriately forgettable, and I was right. ANYwho, how do they look, are there any pale, fashion failures? Wait that was Porcelain, and he's Audi.'

Will's face dropped with the mention of Kurt Hummel, and he looked down at his barely touched sandwich,

'We have try outs tomorrow.'

After another lengthy sip, the brash but surprisingly astute Sue Sylvester continued to probe,

'You don't seem that excited, and that's not like you, William. Usually you treat every Glee event like its two-for-one day at the Kiehls' counter.'

A short, humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth, but quickly fell away. Still looking down, he dared to venture a serious question to the mercurial Sylvester,

'How do you do it, Sue? All those titles, all those trophies…with all those different kids. Don't you ever feel like your heart isn't in a 'repeat' performance?'

Ignoring her water-bottle, a rare look of concern ghosted Sue's features,

'You aren't worried about not caring 'enough', William, you're worried about caring 'too much'…again. No one will ever replace your first group of kids, just like no one can ever make you forget your first kiss.'

With a smile, her usual sense of sarcasm resurfaced,

'But how often is anyone's 'first' kiss their 'best' kiss.'

Will's smile lasted a little longer before he answered,

'It's still tough, Sue. I loved…I 'love' those kids with every fiber of my being. Its not something I can just get over. I mean, how do you do it?'

'Oh William, you and I are two very different creatures. Even with my 'favorite' group of Cheerios, I still wanted to travel back in time and punch them as babies, so I might not be much help with the 'touchy, feely' part of your question. However, as to the other…'

Reaching across the table, Sue took his hand,

'No one is telling you to 'get over' those kids. They'll always be a part of you, and, whether you believe me or not, those kids, new and old, in that auditorium tomorrow, will be a part of you too. That's the blessing and curse of being an educator, we never forget the ones we love...or the ones we couldn't help.'

Letting go of Will's hand, Sue put her palm against her lower back and slowly stood. Mr. Schue kept his seat, having already learned that trying to help her only resulted in a swatting hand and an insult, if you were lucky.

Before leaving, she looked down at him and nodded,

'You just have to take the hurt, shake it off, and keep going because the hits won't stop coming, they'll never stop coming,' she finished, having exhausted the last of her allotment of compassion for the school year.

'Sue,' he ventured.

'Yes, William.'

'Don't look now, but you are starting to act dangerously close to what society might term a 'great mother'.'

With a wink and a smile, Sue moved away but yelled back across the faculty lounge,

'What is the world coming to, William?'


	5. Drawing Fire Scene 5

(A few hours later)

McKinley's last class had ended over an hour ago, and most of the school's extra-curriculars had yet to reconvene for the new school year. The only exceptions being the sports teams, but the heavy summer rain falling outside had prompted the cancellation of all athletic practices, save Sue Sylvester's second of two daily 'torture sessions' for the Cheerios.

William McKinley High was closing down for the night, another 'first day' in the proverbial books for the storied building.

With a move that harkened back to an earlier age, one unencumbered with smartphones, Blake flipped over his left hand and glanced at the watch-face secured on the underside of his wrist. With a sigh, the tall boy surrendered to the fact that the girl he had met earlier in the day would not be returning. From his position on the floor under their lockers, Blake stood up, pulled on his hat, and unconsciously tucked a few errant strands of hair back behind his ears. Glancing at the girl's locker beside his, he shook his head and moved toward the opposite end of the building and the exit to student parking.

Aware that he might be coming off as some kind of stalker, the junior worried that he had done irreparable harm to a potential friendship with the girl. All he wanted was to make sure she was okay…well, that and learn her name. Maybe he was crazy, but when they had talked that morning, before all the drama, she had seemed so, so anxiously 'happy'. Blake didn't know how else to explain it other than that. Her face had seemed nervous but glad to be so.

And damn if he couldn't get the thought of that look out of his head.

Every class had been spent distracted instead of focused, thinking of a girl he didn't know, and when his mind travelled away from Nellie, albeit briefly, he still didn't focus on his studies but thought instead of Artie Abrams and New Directions. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out the 'Try Out' flyer and unfolded it. Re-reading it, Blake shook his head and returned it to his pocket.

'Where the hell am I?', he pondered again for the thousandth time.

When he had pictured his first day at McKinley, Blake had been saddled with the traditional worries most had about a new school in a new town but never in a million years had he pictured it going the way it had. It had been…it had been…hell, it had been an adrenaline rush. His pseudo-meeting with the nervous, happy girl, singing in the halls, even his encounter with Charlie Booth had been exciting, if in a 'fight-or-flight' kinda way. Really, the day had been so different, so outside of his realm of experience and comprehension that he wasn't sure he would ever understand it, or even believe that it had happened.

Stepping outside into the rain shower, he picked up his pace to a slow jog, trying to stay as dry as possible on his short trip to his truck. Still he didn't go too fast and kept looking around, hoping against hope that he might spy a certain girl, but the lot was almost empty; most of the students eager to flee the prison known as William McKinley.

His silver Toyota Tacoma was right where he had left it, and with a quick press of his key fob, Blake grabbed the door handle and had his hand promptly slip off the wet handle, when it didn't open. Pressing the 'unlock' button, he tried the handle again but it still stayed firmly shut.

'Well this sucks,' he muttered, as the rain quickly darkened his t-shirt to a dark blue.

He quickly checked the passenger door but it too was locked. Blake had almost decided to head back into the building, when he rolled his eyes and nearly palmed his own face. Taking his key, he manually unlocked the driver's side door and climbed inside.

The truck started without a problem, and Blake turned the heat on a bit to help warm himself up from the surprisingly cold summer rain.

Laughing, he again rolled his eyes and said aloud,

'Man I hope no one saw that. Cause, if they did, I just blew any chance I had of getting into some AP classes.'


	6. Drawing Fire Scene 6

Inside his Audi, Charlie Booth took a sip of his coffee and smiled when Blake struggled to enter his truck. From his vantage point across the parking lot, he had a clear view of the other boy, despite the worsening downpour. Booth's eyes took in everything about Blake, noting how even his physical demeanor seemed self-effacing. Ryan was exactly the type of person Charlie despised. He seemed good natured and sociable; not to mention annoyingly 'brave', a character trait that simply couldn't be tolerated. The Croparazzi had enough trouble with Artie Abrams, and they certainly didn't need the Wheeled Wonder getting a side-kick.

No, Blake appeared to be a hero-in-training; with his good looks and ability not to take himself too seriously, he had risen to the top of Charlie's 'Most Hunted List'. An example needed to be made of this upstart before he managed to gain some traction in McKinley. Blake Ryan would become a cautionary tale for the rest of the student body; one that whispered of the dangers associated with interfering in Croparazzi business.

A wry smile crawled up his face, when he realized that he was starting to sound more-and-more like a comic book villain.

'So…that's the plan then?', said the person in the passenger seat.

'Yup,' Charlie nearly whispered, as he watched the silver Tacoma pull away.

'Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through just to crush some new kid. Why don't we just Croplift him onto Miley Cyrus's body or something?'

Charlie rolled his eyes in disgust,

'I'm going to say this once, so, for the love of God, do not make me repeat myself.'

Taking another sip of his coffee, Charlie Booth stared out the front windshield, while rivers of raindrops reflected in his eyes,

'We can't keep doing the same-old, same-old…our audience won't stand for it, and eventually they will watch, and listen, to others. We can't have them finding the 'truth' elsewhere, or worse yet, making up their own minds. McKinley needs to have one voice that tells them who is popular and who is not. One voice that tells them what-is-what, and that voice is mine. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but damn, if it doesn't look snazzy on me.'

Finally, with the raging storm still reflected in his eyes, he glanced over at the boy beside him,

'This school belongs to the Croparazzi, Michael, and I won't let some boy scout come in here and make us look foolish. We are taking this to the next level, so are you with me, or not?'

Dread blanched Michael Liston's face, and his head nodded violently, affirming his commitment to Charlie Booth and all-things Croparazzi,

'No, no, no, I'm with you, definitely…I mean, how can you even think I wouldn't be?'

Charlie kept the dark, evil look on his face for several heartbeats…and then he burst into a fit of hysterical laughter,

'DUDE, I had you!'

Relief flooded Michael's features because Charlie had indeed fooled him.

'Screw you, Booth!', Michael roared in slightly exaggerated rage.

Charlie's giggles devolved into a full-blown 'fit'.

'Oh my God you should've seen your face,' he gasped in between barks of laughter.

'Yeah, yeah 'hardy-f'n-har',' Michael muttered, which only sent Charlie deeper into his mirthful tirade.

After a few moments, Booth finally calmed himself down enough to continue the conversation,

'Alright so you have everything you need?'

With an eye-roll of his own, Michael answered his 'boss',

'Yeah. I got pics of his registration info, Lima address, and a couple other tidbits, when I got into this truck.'

'Looks like you shorted out his power-locks though,' Charlie said before taking another sip of coffee.

Shaking his head, Michael disagreed,

'That wasn't me. Well, not directly anyway, the rain probably caused the hiccup when I hacked the carrier signal. It's not like I'm a car-thief, for Christ's sake! I'm not perfect.'

'Calm down, Mikey,' Charlie's smile returned, 'You did a great job, getting into his truck. Where did you learn that anyway?'

Looking down, the mathematical genius shrugged sheepishly,

'A russian website, I think.'

'You think?' Charlie stated with more than a touch of incredulousness in his voice.

'Yeah, I can't remember,' Michael lied.

Not buying the other boy's humility, Charlie snorted,

'Don't play that game with me, Mikey; you remember everything…that's why you are one of the Croparazzi's greatest assets. I mean do you really think I'd let some damn sophomore's ass defile my car seat, if he was just some two-bit cyber-surfer?'

Pursing his lips and rolling his eyes, Michael ventured a barb of his own,

'You know you're starting to sound like a comic-book villain right?'

Charlie burst into another fit of laughter at Michael's eerily similar assessment.

Finally, the head of the Croparazzi gathered himself enough to finish,

'Find out everything you can about Mr. Ryan, Mikey, and have that half-wit, Dawson, steal some of that lacquer we need from his shop class.'

Michael nodded,

'Sure. Anything else?'

Charlie's eyes returned to the storm outside,

'Now that you mention it, yes there is.'

A very villainy smile curled Booth's lips,

'Find out who has the locker to the left of Ryan's.'

If he had had a long black mustache, Charlie would've twirled it.

* * *

(Author's Note: 'Yup' that's Michael from the Glee Project.)


	7. Drawing Fire Scene 7

Each of her footsteps exploded in the empty hallway, reverberating against the metal of the banks of lockers and echoing in all directions. Faster and faster, Nellie ran, sliding around corners and sprinting at full speed down the longer expanses. Her arms pumped in synergy with her whirling legs; a tornado made of flesh and bone.

'Oh my God! Oh my God!', her thoughts screamed as she finally slid to a stop in front of her locker.

Due to Blake's presence, she had been unable, or more aptly 'unwilling', to go to her locker and get her car keys. Stuck at school, Nellie now found herself incredibly late, and her life did not tolerate tardiness. Fumbling with her combination, she had to re-start the three number sequence twice before the metal portal finally popped open. With a move that would've made an Olympic relay runner proud, Nellie snatched the 'baton' (in this case her car keys) and moved to shut the door.

But that's when she saw it…an envelope with a question mark on the front.

Hesitating for a second, she tentatively picked it up and opened it.

It was from him.

'You know, he just wants to know your name…Nellie,' a voice said from behind her.

She froze and terror flooded through her.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you but I tend to make less noise than most.'

Turning around slowly, Nellie kept the letter behind her back, unconsciously shielding it from whoever the speaker was, but instead of a stranger, or worse one of the Croparazzi, she was greeted with the smiling face of Artie Abrams. Relief washed over her, and the tension seizing her muscles depleted somewhat.

Still, Nellie was a creature of shadow and 'any' person would've been one too many, so while she relaxed, she did not lower her guard.

With a nearly atrophied voice, she tried to end the encounter quickly,

'I'm running really late. I…can't…talk.'

Artie smiled,

'I'll walk with you, so to speak.'

Sighing at his persistence and her own inability to simply be rude and run off, Nellie closed her locker and started to walk toward the student parking lot.

Wheeling along beside her, Artie continued with an unexpected question,

'Do you sing, Nellie?'

'What?' she stammered, 'Wait, first, how do you know my name?'

'You were in my theater class last year, until you transferred out after the first day.'

Nellie's eyes narrowed in suspicion,

'And you remember me? From one day of one class?'

'Handsome and brilliant,' Artie smiled, 'That's me. Now, that that is out of the way, do you sing, Nellie?'

Her pace picked up, as if she somehow thought 'speed' could help her avoid the question, but Artie stayed right beside her.

'I'm going to just assume that you do, how's that?'

Nellie shrugged and continued walking.

'Do you know, Nellie, there are days where I thank God I'm in this chair,' the boy stated matter-of-factly.

She stopped and turned toward him,

'How can you say that? I'm not trying to be rude, but…how can you say that, honestly?'

Spinning in a deft ninety-degree turn, Artie faced her,

'You can't hide in a wheelchair, Nellie, no matter how hard you try. All the kids see you. In elementary school, you are the 'poor paralyzed boy' and when you get older you are the 'poor paralyzed man', but regardless, you are 'someone' to the rest of the school.'

Understanding his point, Nellie rolled her eyes and moved around him.

"So it is better to be paralyzed than to be me,' she said over her shoulder, 'Is that what you're getting at?'

Catching up, Artie continued with an even pleasant voice,

'There are worse things than being in this chair, and I know that if I hadn't been physically incapable of hiding, I may never have had the courage to do what I've done. So, I can honestly say that I would rather wheel with my friends, than walk by myself.'

She stopped but left her back to Artie,

'I'm not you, Artie, and you don't know me…you just know me from one day of one class. Sometimes…sometimes its just not in the cards, you know?'

'Tomorrow, after school in the auditorium we are having tryouts for New Directions. I tell you what, I'll come by your locker a few minutes before and we can go together. How does that sound?'

Keeping her back to him, Nellie nearly whispered,

'It sounds…it sounds…like you haven't been hearing me, Artie. Even if I wanted to sing more than breathe, I still couldn't…and there isn't a 'pep-talk' in the world that can change facts.'

With that she started walking, then jogging, until, finally, she was running again.

Wheeling up to the top of the ten-step transition that led from the main hallway to the gymnasium, Artie yelled after her,

'I'll be at your locker, right before tryouts! We can do this together! We can change your cards!'

Nellie hit the doors to the student parking lot at a full run, and answered Artie Abrams with silence.


	8. Drawing Fire Scene 8

The '93 Honda Civic slide precariously for a moment, hydroplaning in the rain water pooling in the residential streets of Lima, but the vehicle corrected its course quickly and pulled into the blacktopped driveway of a darkened Cape Cod. Before the old engine had even finished sputtering, the driver's side door rocketed open, and Nellie jumped into the storm. Leaving her belongings in the car, she sprinted up to the home's side-door and fumbled for the appropriate key. A second later, she fell into a dark kitchen. Her sight hindered by the gloom, the rest of her senses sought information on the environment, but the initial results were not encouraging.

Dark house.

No talking, no TV, no noise of any kind.

Nothing cooking and the house seemed…stale.

'Papa!,' she called, as she flicked on the kitchen lights.

Confirming the room's vacancy, Nellie moved deeper into the small house, worry lining her beautiful face and tearing her eyes.

'Papa!', she called again; fear chilling her every step.

The living room was empty.

Leaving that room in darkness, Nellie flew into the rear bedroom.

'Papa!', her voice broke into a scream.

The bedroom too was empty, but from the adjoining bathroom, a dim light shone. Nellie's flight slowed to a walk, and her whole body began to shake.

'Papa,' she whispered, unable to produce enough air to shout.

With a trembling hand, Nellie slowly pushed open the bathroom door.

The light she had seen from the bedroom moved as she entered until it flared in her face.

'Little Girl?', said an ancient voice from behind the flashlight's spot, 'that you, Little Girl?'

Nellie flew to the tile floor where her grandfather was sitting propped up against the tub and hugged his boney body as tightly as she dared.

'I'm so sorry, Papa, I couldn't get away,' she released him and started checking him for injuries, 'What's wrong? Why are you on the floor? Are you hurt?'

Turning off the little flashlight the ancient being made a 'hushing' sign with his knotted, arthritic hand,

'I was goin' to fix the commode from runnin', but when I got down here, I'll be damned, if I could get back up.'

His face wrinkled into a smile,

'Now you tell me the truth, Little Girl, am I gettin' old.'

Hugging the only parent she had ever known, Nellie allowed her relief to flow down her face in twin tears,

'Not to me, Papa…not to me.'

'You wouldn't lie to an old soldier would you?' he joked, as he hugged her back.

'How long have you been down here?' she said suddenly, pulling away and looking him in his brilliant blue, if slightly clouded, eyes.

'Not long, not long,' he said waving away her concern, 'Could use a little to eat though. Help me up and I'll get supper started.'

Carefully, Nellie wrapped a bath towel around his back and under his arms, grabbed it in a reverse grip, drew the fabric over her own shoulders, turned her back to him, and squatted down until she was around his level. Slowly his nearly frozen hands found her shoulders and gripped with all the strength he had left.

'On the count of three,' she said over her shoulder, 'One…'

'Two,' he said.

'Three!', they said together with an ease born from years of practice.

Nellie quickly got her grandfather's emaciated form up to a standing position, but she held him up by the towel for several minutes, allowing his strength to return before she released him to his own power. When he finally squeezed her shoulder, signaling he was ready, she let go, turned and hugged him fiercely.

'I'm so sorry, Papa…I swear it won't happen again.'

Patting her back, he joked with his beloved 'Little Girl',

'I certainly hope it happens again, for two reasons. One, it means you're somewhere that ain't here, hopefully havin' a life absent an old man, and 'Two', if it happens again, that means I'm still kickin'…which is always preferable to the alternative.'

Pulling back, Nellie launched into a conversation that they had had every day for nearly three years,

'Papa, we have to get you somewhere safe. You need…'

'Some dinner,' he interrupted, 'I couldn't agree more, Little Girl.'

With another squeeze of her shoulder, the ancient man started shuffling toward the kitchen, pausing only a moment to grab his cane from against the wall.


	9. Drawing Fire Scene 9

Though most of her dinner still remained, Nellie slowly put her fork down, unable to finish. Looking at the frail little man sitting across from her, she pushed down the emotion welling up in her and began,

'We need to get you somewhere safe, Papa. If you fall and get hurt, and I'm not he…'

'You know we can't do that, Little Girl,' he smiled sadly after wiping his mouth with his napkin.

Nellie tried to continue, but her grandfather beat her to the punch.

'We don't have the money for a nursin' home. If I go, they'll take the house and what little money we have, but worst of all, they'll take you from me.'

'I'll be fine, P…', Nellie started but again her grandfather interrupted, shaking his painfully gaunt head.

'I won't die till you're eighteen, Little Girl…I swear it. We just have to hold on till then,' his blue eyes drilled into hers, and a flash of his youth returned, 'You promise me, Nellie, you promise me that no matter what, you'll stick to our plan. Everything's in place for you to get the house and whatever's left of the money, when I'm gone, but if Ohio learns that I'm…that I'm in a bad way, they'll take you from me and put me where I won't be able to stop 'em.'

Nellie's palm smashed against the table, shaking the dishes and her grandmother's silk flower arrangement, and when she brought her eyes to his, tears streamed down her cheeks,

'I don't care about the house or the money! I care about you!'

Her grandfather's eyes turned glassy, but still he shook his head,

'I love you, Little Girl with everything I've ever been or will be, but I won't take away your chance to follow your dreams…and for that you'll need this house and the money. Your life has been too tough, too hard for a scoundrel, let alone someone with a heart like yours. By holdin' on a little longer, I'll be able to make it a little easier for you, so maybe, just maybe, you'll get a chance to be a teenager and not a damn hospice nurse to me.'

Nellie's silence continued the debate.

'We'll get through this, Little Girl,' he tried to reassure her, 'and I promise not to go fixin' any toilets unless you're around…which you don't need to be so much.'

Nellie rolled her eyes in disbelief,

'I just found you on the floor not thirty minutes ago, and now you're telling me, I don't need to be here so much! Are you sure you didn't hit your head? I don't need to be anywhere else,' she turned her gaze to the table.

'Yes you do,' he stated matter-of-factly, 'You need to be anywhere but here. You need to be out in the world. You need to have fun and find someone to love.'

'Ahhh, I don't think I asked for any relationship advice,' Nellie said a bit harsher than she had wanted.

'No you surely didn't, but unless a war breaks out in Lima, you'll have to actually exist outside of this house to find someone.'

Nellie looked up at the mention of 'war' and a sad grin pulled at her mouth,

'Like grandma.'

'Like grandma,' he repeated, 'but wasn't just the war that led me to her. Hell, I would've missed her, if I hadn't been so damn dumb.'

Nellie knew what her grandfather was doing; he was trying to turn the conversation away from his care to the story of how he met her grandmother; a story she had always asked about but had never really heard.

Her attention piqued, she allowed him his 'win', if only to hear his tale,

'Grandma's village had been destroyed, and you met her, while she was moving south with some refugees, right?'

'That's mostly right,' he whispered, but his eyes seemed to lose focus, as he lost himself to the past.

Nellie couldn't help but lean forward, as he started.

'I was a mechanic, worked on planes, mostly. We were set far enough back from the Front that while we had to duck and cover from enemy aircraft, we didn't see near as much of the war as the boys on the Line did."

As he spoke, one lone tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek into his silver stubble,

'One day, all Hell broke lose. Enemy planes were shootin' at anything that moved, and it didn't seem like there was any of our boys in the sky. The pilots ran for our planes on the ground, hopin' to get up at 'em, while the rest of us were ordered to our fox holes. I hunkered down in mine with the cook and another mechanic, while the dust and smoke covered everything.'

Another tear fell from his other eye,

'Don't know what made me look out but when I did I saw one of our pilots trapped in a burnin' plane. He was hurt somethin' awful, but he was still movin' still fightin'. Next thing I know, I'm runnin' toward his plane, while the two fellas in my foxhole screamed for me to come back. I swear I didn't think I was goin' to make it, but before I knew it I was by that boy's side, cuttin' him out of his flight harness. He was hurt bad, but I couldn't waste time bein' too gentle; I yanked him free with every bit a muscle I could conjure up, and I carried him out into the field beside the airstrip.'

Lost in his tale, he barely felt Nellie's hands reach across the table and lace into his,

'Them that saw it say that the explosion from the plane threw us down, but I didn't hear a thing; one beat I'm runnin' and the next, I was in the dust. The pilot was breathin' but he wasn't awake anymore, so I worked my way underneath him so to get him over my shoulders but it was tough goin'. What I didn't know then was that a two-inch piece of that boy's plane was buried in my calf, robbin' me of balance. Don't think I ever would've gotten him up, if I hadn't gotten help.'

More tears started to fall, and the silver stubble on his chin shook with emotion,

'I thought I was dead and that God had sent an angel for me. You hear that in movies a lot, when fellas describe meetin' a lady, but this was honest awe, coursin' through me. She was wearin' all white; it didn't occur to me that that might just be her clothes…I just saw an angel. Together we got the boy on my shoulders, while chunks of dark earth erupted all around us. Chaos tried its best to get my attention, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the angel helpin' me. Most beautiful thing I had ever seen, or would ever see.'

Nellie cried quietly, so she wouldn't interrupt his story.

'Slowly we got up, me with the boy on my shoulders, and my angel with her arms around me, steadyin' me…hell, holdin' me up. Above us, the enemy must've gotten a bit testy that the two of us were still walkin' around on the battlefield, so they started focusin' on puttin' us down. Bullets made a mess of everything, tearin' up the ground better than a hundred post-diggers. It didn't take long for us to realize we weren't goin' to make it back to the foxhole. I wasn't about to leave that boy but I couldn't keep quiet and watch my angel fall…so's I yell out, 'Run on ahead! Run on ahead!' But she didn't listen; instead she turns to me points to the foxhole and smiles. The next thing I know, she's runnin' out into the field away from us; this angel wearin' white. She starts wavin' her arms and screams, 'HEY!' up at the enemy planes. She was drawin' them off us…buyin' us time. I wanted to run out to her, grab her, and run to safety, but I had that boy on my shoulders. So I tore my eyes away from her and ran toward the foxhole, screamin' for them boys that were still in there to get out and help me. I knew she wouldn't last out there for long, but God musta had different plans for us because just as quick as it had started, the skies cleared.'

Slowly, her grandfather's eyes returned to the present and focused on Nellie,

'I found her less than a minute later, alive and unharmed. Chaplain married us the next day.'

Trying unsuccessfully to wipe away her tears, Nellie got up, moved around the table and hugged him fiercely. She knew that it had taken everything he had to tell the tale without breaking down, and Nellie marveled at his strength. Several minutes passed until finally she said,

'You saved that boy and she saved you…my God, Papa, my God.'

'Your grandma saved me on that day and every one since, but if I hadn't been a fool, stuck my head out, and drew fire that day, I never would've met her.'

Seeing that the story had done its job and Nellie's anger had subsided, her grandfather smiled and continued,

'This afternoon aside, I've been good the past few months. Go out with your friends and do what kids do…go to a dance, or…or a bonfire or something.'

Rolling her eyes again, Nellie couldn't help but smile,

'A 'bonfire', Papa? Really?'

His smile grew,

'Well that's what we had when I was your age. They were sorta neat…course that could've been because we had just discovered fire a week earlier.'

With a snort of laughter, Nellie wiped away the tracks of her tears, and the tension lifted from the moment, leaving just a grandfather and a granddaughter with grins and dishes to clean.


	10. Drawing Fire Scene 10

Her lips touched the wrinkled skin just above his bushy, white eyebrows, lingering for a moment, but his breathing remained even and the man himself, asleep. Careful not to bang his bedroom door against the frame, Nellie slowly closed it and turned on the receiver for the baby monitor she had hidden behind his footlocker. A few of the red L.E.D bars flickered every time her grandfather breathed, giving her a small measure of comfort.

Moments later, she stood in the bathroom wearing her robe. The steam of her shower had clouded the mirror and vanquished her image held within its depths, but with the catharsis of the heated water vapor, the events of the day replayed in her head. Flashes of Artie Abrams, Charlie Booth, her grandfather, and Blake Ryan jumped around in her mind like a movie projected on a waving flag. Placing her hands on the cool surface of the vanity, Nellie attempted to calm the chaos the only way she knew how.

She sang,

'_Drink up baby…'_

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she fell into the song and allowed her powerful voice to guide her through all of the confusion and revelation of the day. Perfectly executed, each note brought her closer to an understanding, an understanding that she faced a defining moment in her young life.

Reaching up, Nellie wiped the steam off the mirror and matched her own gaze in the reflection,

'… _you're writing your tragedy….'_

With the words of the song, the Nellie in the mirror demanded that she finally make a decision in her life: to be or not to be. No longer could her excuses shield her from risk, or potential harm. No longer could she skirt the periphery of life like some fairy born in a fever dream.

Down the dark hallway she walked, questioning everything she had ever believed about McKinley, about life, and wondering if she were even capable of the courage needed to walk in the light, to draw fire…like her grandparents,

'_So, let go…'_

But could she let go of the life she had lived for so long? Did she dare?

Moments later, her robe had been traded for sweat pants and an olive green, oversized t-shirt. With her knees drawn up to her chin, Nellie sat on her bed, staring at the foot where the envelope with the question mark rested,

'_It gains the more it gives…'_

Blake Ryan's letter represented something much more than simple correspondence; it was the catalyst for her choice. In reading his note, Nellie would place her feet on a new path, out of the shadows. Once started, she wouldn't be able to become invisible again; too many would know her name…and McKinley's evil would be able to see her.

As her mind warred over what to do, her voice continued to sing and, in so doing, added mettle to her resolve,

'… _we've no time for later...'_

Her last note hung in the air of the still house, like a church bell tolling for either a wedding or a funeral. The white of the envelope seemed to brighten and the rest of the world blurred, leaving just Blake's note in focus.

Her eyes closed and she exhaled slowly. Damp black bangs fell over her left eye, as she lowered her head, but with her next breath, she said aloud,

'Just let go, Nellie…just…let…go.'

When her eyes opened, Blake's letter was in her hand, unfolded.

Nellie made her decision…and started to read.

(Author's Note: Thank you so, so much for all of the kind words and reviews. You guys have made this process so rewarding. Also, since I've received conflicting reports about the incorporation of musical lyrics, I've decided to edit what I write. I still want to do musical numbers but I also want to respect the works of others. I figure if anyone wants to know what song I'm using, just PM me. Thanks again!)

(Additional Note: My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims of the Colorado shooting.)


	11. Drawing Fire Scene 11

(The Next Morning)

The choir room lay still and quiet, a decidedly different state than the nearly constant motion and glee in which it usually resided. No music played, no bodies danced, no voices sang; empty save for the voices of the past. Echoes of loves found and lost, shades of heartbreaking performances, and dried tears of joy and pain haunted the space. Ghosts ruled, dominating the present with the glorious victories of the past and promising that nothing would ever be the same…or could ever be as great, as it had been.

Alone, Will Schuester stood staring at the trophies won by New Directions under his guidance, and though he knew he should've felt pride for his kids and joy at having taught them, all of his focus was on the loss he felt at their absence. Sue's words had resonated with him, but they had not inspired him to climb from his depression.

He knew how he should be acting. He should be honoring his kids by continuing what they had started. Passion, love, and commitment should again be his driving force, helping to pilot this new incarnation of New Directions to the same heights achieved by its predecessor. To again be what they had been, these kids would need the William Schuester of old; the one that had given his whole heart to each and every child under his wing. But to be what he once was, Will would be required to open himself up to the hurt, the ache he had felt when Finn left to join the Army.

The facts were clear; each of these kids would leave him, one way or the other, but maybe, just maybe he could protect himself from the pain of losing them. He would be their teacher and help them from the show choir stage to the next stage of their lives, but he couldn't be their parent…he couldn't let them in.

His decision made, Will turned from the trophy case…and realized that he wasn't as alone as he had thought. Just inside the doorway, a figure stood in the shadows.

'Sorry,' his infectious, if tempered, smile appeared,'didn't mean to be rude.'

He gestured behind him, indicating the trophy case,

'Can't stare at those too long or people will start to talk.'

With a nervous laugh, he addressed the unknown student across the room,

'I'm Mr. Schuester, can I help you?'

Silence reigned, filling the moment with a pregnant pause, but before the dramatic gave way to the awkward, the figure stepped from the darkness into the light.

'Sorry,' said Nellie, 'I was looking for..for a…boy. I thought he might be here.'

Will immediately recognized that the girl was more than a bit nervous, so in an effort to relax the situation with a bit of normalcy, he walked over to the piano and took a sip from his coffee cup.

'You're in luck,' he said with a smile, 'we get lots of 'boys' in here, but with a name, I'm sure I could narrow your search a bit.'

'Blake…Blake Ryan,' she spoke in little more than a whisper…her voice untested and unaccustomed to use inside the walls of McKinley.

'Artie's recruit?' Mr. Schue questioned.

For the first time, Nellie's eyes left Will and scanned the choir room, lingering for a moment on the piano. Like a fawn on fresh legs, she took another tentative step into the space, and when she spoke, her voice seemed distant, as if she were seeing her surroundings for the first time,

'He met Artie yesterday, so I guess that makes him his 'recruit'.'

A puzzled look floated over Schuester's features, and he found his curiosity mounting. But before he could ask the girl what was wrong, Will remembered that such questions led to caring, which led to relationships, which led to 'hurt', so instead he opted for simple politeness.

'I'm sorry but I haven't seen him, or Artie, for that matter. I'm sure you could catch up with him at tryouts this afternoon.'

Will almost let that statement end the conversation, but old habits, especially those that define someone, were very, very hard to break.

'Are you new to McKinley?', he asked.

Nellie smiled slightly,

'I guess you could say it's my…first day, but I've been attending McKinley for two years.'

Too curious to let such a statement go unchecked, Will continued,

'Well…welcome to McKinley. If I may, what makes today so special?'

Her smile seemed so much older than anything a teenager should have been able to produce,

'You teach History, don't you, Mr. Schuester?'

'Yes, now I do, post-Civil War American History to be specific' he replied with his ever-present smile.

She nodded politely, but paused before she continued, as if she were searching for the right words,

'You can…learn a lot from history. What I'm trying to say is…I guess…I guess you can't live your life in a foxhole. Someday…someday you have to peek out.'

Will's face melted from a polite smile to honest wonder at the strange, yet profound, statement.

Nellie matched his look with a shrug, incapable of further explanation,

'Today's my day.'

His pledge of 'separation' forgotten, Will couldn't hold back a follow-up question,

'To peek?'

Her eyes met his, and the strength in them nearly caught his breath,

'No, Mr. Schuester, I've wasted enough time. Today I'm leaving my foxhole.'

Stunned into silence, Will couldn't do anything but smile and shake his head. Finally, he answered with the only words that seemed to make sense,

'Good…good luck.'

'Thanks,' she replied and with one last look around, she moved back into the hall.

The bell for homeroom rang, knocking Will from his introspection. He quickly gathered his things and flicked off the choir room's light, but he couldn't get the strange student and her message out of his head.

And he never would.

Because what he didn't know then was that he, William Schuester,

the man that had pledged to keep his students out of his heart,

the man that was the soul of New Directions,

the man that thought of Finn Hudson as his 'son'

…that man had just met his future 'daughter'.

And he didn't even know her name.

(Author's Note: Again, thank you all for such amazing encouragement. I cannot express what this experience has meant to me.)


	12. Drawing Fire Scene 12

Completely ignoring the homeroom bell, Charlie Booth and his Croparazzi lurked and whispered in the dimly lit, and currently empty, biology lab. Normally the powerful group would talk in the open for all to see and hear; confident, as they were, with both their feared status, as the unelected rulers and lords of McKinley, and the de facto diplomatic immunity awarded the position. Neither student nor faculty were foolish enough to openly engage them…lest they find themselves in the untenable position of 'target'.

Yes, normally whispers were not needed, but for The Croparazzi, these were not normal times. Their leader had demanded an escalation of their efforts; Charlie Booth wanted his rule at McKinley unquestioned, and for that, he needed a spectacle the likes of which had never been seen or conceived. And for that reason, and that reason alone, the Croparazzi spoke in the shadows.

Because 'assassinations' always started with whispers in the dark.

'This will get him expelled,' Michael said to Charlie.

'Yup,' Booth answered with a smile, 'it most certainly will.'

'And we're okay with this?', Michael posed the question to Charlie and the other members of the Croparazzi,

A massive senior and ex-football player with the muscle but not the temperament to play, Todd 'TD' Dawson snorted in disgust,

'Quit being such a pussy. This Blake Ryan, douche bag, screwed with Charlie and everyone saw it. Now everyone will see where being a smart ass gets you. So grow a pair a…'

'That's enough,' Charlie interrupted and Dawson immediately fell into silence.

'Michael's right,' Booth continued, 'This is a little more…exciting than the things we have done in the past, so if anyone is worried about being a part of this, please don't think I'm ordering you to do anything. You can 'walk' at any time.'

With the emphasis on the word 'walk', Charlie made it quite clear that 'walking' away from the 'Assassination of Blake Ryan' also meant walking away from membership in the Croparazzi, as expected, there weren't any 'takers'.

A fresh smile spread across Charlie's face,

'Okay then, everyone knows where to be, when to be there, and what to do when you get there?'

Thirteen heads nodded back at Booth.

'Good,' he slapped the top of the nearest workstation for emphasis, 'Fireworks start right after school so bring your popcorn.'

Michael dared one more question,

'What about the weather? It looks like Kamino out there.'

When everyone looked at him in confusion, he attempted to explain his reference,

'Kamino…the planet with the Clone army in Star Wars. It rained there…like, a lot.'

'Oh my God are you a nerd,' TD rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at Michael, 'I mean is this guy serious! 'Casino'! I mean co…'

'Kamino,' Michael dared to correct the hulking bully, 'It starts with a 'K' and has a 'M' in it. You know, Mmmm, Mmmm, 'M'…like Mmmm, Mmmm, 'moron'.'

TD's massive hand grabbed the front of Michael's polo shirt and lifted him to his tip-pee-toes.

'You calling me a 'moron'?' the brute growled in Michael's face.

Michael's eyes narrowed, despite the danger he faced,

'I would say 'what do you think?' but then we would all be here until Friday.'

TD's free hand drew back into a fist, readying to obliterate the helpless sophomore.

'Stop,' Charlie said still smiling, but his eyes danced with danger, 'I'm getting tired of wearing the stripes around you two. Dawson, don't kill him, please. Mikey, next time I'm not saying a word. We clear?'

TD's rapid breathing told a different story, but his voice accepted the decree,

'Yeah, fine, I don't need geek blood all over my shirt anyway.'

Nearly throwing Michael, the larger boy moved back beside Charlie, never taking his eyes from the sophomore.

'As to the weather,' Charlie started, breaking the tension, 'dress accordingly. It's not like we're launching the space shuttle for Christ's sake; we're going today, no matter what. I don't care if Coach Beiste is walking animals into her pickup two-by-two, we roll at the end of the day. Understood?'

Again the Croparazzi nodded as one.

After a few beats of silence, Michael, who was still staring at TD, spoke,

'I didn't mean anything by it…sorry.'

Pursing his lips in disgust, Dawson growled,

'Take your 'sorry' and shove it up yo…'

Before he could finish, the biology lab's door exploded inward and smashed against the doorstop affixed to the wall, and a lone figure entered.

'Thought I smelled something funny,' Sue Sylvester addressed the Croparazzi.

Fear ghosted across the features of most of the group, all of them save TD and Charlie.

'Hi, Coach Sylvester,' the latter began, his sarcastic smile growing, 'Did the bell ring? We were so busy studying we didn't notice.'

Ignoring the obvious lie, Sue walked around the group, systematically taking a sip from her massive water-bottle and then sniffing one of the Croparazzi.

'I smelled the lingering aroma of Bunsen burners, frog corpses, and danger, but that wasn't what assaulted my olfactory castle. It was the underlying smell of chicken excrement that burned my nostrils, so I opened the door and 'viola',' she spread her arms taking in the Croparazzi, 'I was right…the fecal matter of poultry.'

Charlie laughed in genuine amusement,

'You're the best, Coach Sylvester! Honest to God, the best!'

Seemingly noticing Charlie for the first time, Sue turned her attention to the Croparazzi's leader,

'Listen closely, John Wilkes, your praise, real or fake, means less to me than the musical terrorist, Justin Bieber…and I hate Justin Bieber with a passion I usual reserve for people that leave the seat up and Hugh Jackman. I mean he's too tall to be Wolverine, right?'

Without thinking, Michael nodded his head in agreement.

Ignoring the support, Sue continued,

'Now what I would like you all to do is march down to the front office and let them know that you'll be joining me this afternoon for another edition of 'Oh snap, I'm in detention.' After that I would recommend you all gargle or shower…or do whatever it takes to mask that smell that seems to follow you around.'

None of the Croparazzi moved.

Sue's eyes narrowed, and she started to continue, when Charlie spoke first.

'You know who I am, right, Coach Sylvester?'

Sue stayed silent and took a sip of her water-bottle.

Facing the legendary educator, Charlie spoke to the Croparazzi but never took his eyes from Sue's,

'Wait for us in the hallway.'

Obediently the Croparazzi quit the biology room, shut the door, and waited outside.

'Impressive,' Sue nodded in admiration, 'You'll make an excellent dictator when you grow up. Heard the Taliban is looking for a few good madmen.'

'Congratulations on your pregnancy,' Charlie said, the mirth absent from his smile, 'Guess you'll be taking some time off, when the little bundle of joy gets here.'

Bored, Sue remained silent and sipped from her water-bottle.

Completely at ease, Charlie continued,

'Have you thought about who will mind the store while you're out?'

No longer bored, Sue stepped forward until she was nose-to-nose with Charlie,

'I'm not sure what little game you're playing, Johnny Dubyah, but if this is supposed to be some kind of veiled threat, yo…'

'Oh make no mistake, Coach Sylvester,' Charlie dared to interrupt, 'this is not a 'veiled threat'…it is a very direct, very real 'threat'.'

Rage lanced across Sue's features, and her subsequent bark was delivered not an inch from Charlie's chin,

'Do you really think you can bully me? ME! I've bitch slapped tougher than you for a lot less! Thought you were smarter than tha…'

'Becky will be lost without you,' Charlie again interrupted, 'When you're on maternity leave, I mean; Becky will be simply lost.'

Stunned, Sue fell silent but she didn't back off.

It was now Charlie's turn to move within an inch of Sue, his voice the ooze of an evil minded man,

'I can watch over her, if you like. Help her make decisions, teach her all sorts of interesting things. Hell, she might learn so much, you may not even recognize her, when you get back.'

'Becky won't listen to you,' Sue said with much less conviction than her earlier tirade.

'Coach Sylvester,' Charlie said condescendingly, 'When I'm done with her, she won't listen to you.'

'You little parasite; if you go near her, I'll…'

'You'll what,' snapped Charlie, his smile a memory.

'No, you can't do a thing to me, Coach Sylvester, because I won't be doing anything wrong. I'll just be hanging out with a fellow student, and last I checked, that sort of thing is encouraged,' Charlie's eyes widened in enjoyment of the perceived power coursing through him.

'What you 'will do', Coach Sylvester, is you'll give us all a 'warning' for being out of class. You can save face, and I'll act scared of you, keeping your rep in place…and as a 'thank you', I'll make sure Becky doesn't…'change' during your absence. That sound fair?'

Sue blinked, unable to conceal the fear she felt for her beloved apprentice, and couldn't manage a retort.

With her silence, Charlie's smile returned,

'Good! Anyway, thanks for the talk, Coach Sylvester! I'll be seeing you.'

Almost out of the biology lab, Charlie turned around, firing one last shot in their verbal battle,

'Oh and try to stay off your feet. The doctor put my aunt on bed-rest a full six weeks before she even had my cousin…you wouldn't want to miss anymore time with your students.'

Like some kind of demonic clown, Charlie Booth brought his hand up, palm facing his face. When he lowered his closed hand over his face, his expression changed from joy to fear, and with a wink, he opened the door and joined the Croparazzi.

Sue leaned against the nearest lab table; stunned at her inability to heel Charlie Booth and scared for Becky's 'social safety'.

In the hallway, Sue heard Charlie address the Croparazzi, and true to his word, he held up his end of the bargain.

'You guys owe me! Coach Sylvester is hell on wheels, but I went to bat for y…'

The rest was lost to Sue, as Charlie and his band moved farther away.

(Author's Note: Todd 'TD' Dawson isn't one of the GP2 people. If you need a reference, think of a meaner version of the Hulk :) )


	13. Drawing Fire Scene 13

(Author's Note: I received some great feedback on this scene and have decided to re-edit the second half of it to keep it in line with the rest of the story. Thanks to everyone that helped with this experiment!)

(Same time as the last post)

Principal Figgins marched through McKinley on his way to the front office, and as had been his way for the last nineteen years, he didn't see students and faculty; he saw cost overruns and budgetary land-mines.

'Your hippie-shoes are open toed,' he declared as he passed a student wearing Birkenstocks, 'do not wear them again or I will be forced to make you don something out of lost and found. Can't have hippie's tripping, falling, and parents of hippies suing.'

Not concerned about an actual 'response' from the student, Figgins continued his march.

Without slowing, he yanked a cell-phone charger from the wall, tossed the attached smart-phone back to its surprised owner, curled up the charger cord, and placed it in the pocket of his tweed jacket.

'Ohio says that you are entitled to an education,' he yelled over his shoulder, 'Electricity, however, is a 'whistle and bell' for which your parents and/or guardians did not splurge. If you want a fully loaded scholastic experience complete with things like energy and free water, may I suggest Dalton Academy.'

'But I'm a girl,' the student protested.

Figgins slowed long enough to glance back and squint his eyes, but instead of exploring the exchange, the busy man threw his arms in the air, disappeared around a corner, and yelled back,

'My hands are tied, female-student!'

Sweeping into the front office just as the homeroom bell rang, the Principal delivered a shotgun blast of 'good mornings' to the administrative staff, entered his personal office, and sat down behind his desk. Closing his eyes for a few moments, he smiled and exhaled slowly, bringing his 'relaxation techniques' online. His mind cleared, leaving just his mantra.

'Today, I will be my best,' he thought.

'Today, I will forget all the rest.'

'Today I will be my best and forget all the rest…Just like my P90X.'

Relaxed, he opened his eyes…and immediately felt the tension return to his body.

'Good morning, Sue,' he said to the woman that had appeared while his eyes had been closed.

'I need to take a few personal hours, Deepak,' she glanced at the clock on his wall, 'starting now.'

His eyes widened,

'I have been watching the Internets and am prepared to assist with your laboring. We must call your 'Ob-Gin' and have them meet us at the hospi...'

Rolling her eyes and raising her palm to him, Sue interrupted,

'Holster your eagerness, Figgins, I'm taking personal time not birthing my child.'

His eyes narrowed,

'If you are not taking 'pregnant' time, then why am I learning about your absence after the start of the school day. I have no substitute teachers ready to assume your schedule, leaving me with abandoned children. I cannot have children abandoned in McKinley, Sue!'

'My God…were you always like this, or did the job make you this paranoid?' Sue questioned.

Pausing for a minute, Figgins answered honestly,

'I cannot remember my life before McKinley.'

Leaving the office, Sue yelled over her shoulder,

'Have The Girl In The Bubble cover my schedule until I get back.'

Not needing clarification, Figgins yelled after her,

'Ms. Pilsbury is a counselor of guidance…not a substitute teacher!'

Realizing Sue would not be staying, he slumped back into his chair, only to explode back to his feet and yell,

'What about the announcements!'

(Moments Later)

Principal Figgins stood in front of the P.A microphone, with a look that consisted of one half 'irritation' and one half 'utter boredom'. Casually depressing the 'speak' button, he addressed William McKinley High.

(Author's Note: I will post the original second half as a separate scene tomorrow. After hearing from a few of you, I agree that now isn't the time to experiment with style :) )


	14. Drawing Fire Scene 14

'**Good morning, McKinley,'** Principal Figgins voice erupted from the speaker on the wall of Nellie's homeroom, **'Please rise for the pledging of our allegiance.'**

Overlooking a few 'conscientious objectors', William McKinley High rose as one, and like the president for which it was named recited its promise to support a union.

As often happens with many things done or said over-and-over again, the meaning behind the acts or words, tended to lose weight, until the body or voice would automatically honor the repetition with unconscious execution. Normally the Pledge of Allegiance, while by no means a chore to Nellie, was often 'just another moment', but on that occasion, the morning after she had learned of her grandfather and grandmother's first meeting, the words, so often empty before, were now filled with meaning and a might.

With her right hand over her heart, Nellie fell into the easy cadence and delivery of the act, but her mind raced across an embattled airstrip many decades ago. She saw her grandfather bravely risk his own life for that of a brother soldier. She saw him fall when the plane exploded behind him, throwing him to the dust. And she saw her grandmother, resplendent in a white wrapped dress, rushing from the nearby road, across the field and to his side.

The last image, recreated from the emotion of her grandfather's tale, had her grandparents running, fighting arm-in-arm, while the storm of enemy aircraft spit fire and lightning from the sky.

'HEY, new kid, we get it you're a super patriot, now sit down!'

Broken from her reverie, Nellie realized that she was the only one still standing…and that she had tears in her eyes. Quickly taking her seat amidst a spattering of chuckles, she automatically put her face in her hands and collapsed into herself as much as possible. The instinctual reaction to hide, to turn invisible, was as ingrained in her makeup as was the Pledge of Allegiance. Someone noticed her, so she, like a Pavlovian hound, retreated.

'No,' she thought with her newly adopted resolve, 'not today…not anymore'.

Slowly, she pulled herself up until her back was straight and her carriage tall. Nellie waited for the inevitable insult from the student behind her, but it never came. He, like so many other teenagers, had moved on to a more interesting topic, leaving Nellie and her 'social mistake' forgotten.

Surprised, Nellie actually managed a smile.

As she had told Mr. Schuester, she wanted and believed that today was a new day, a 'first' day, for her, and the simple act of 'sitting straight' reinforced her faith that she had indeed reached a moment of change.

And she had a boy, a virtual stranger, to thank.

'No, not a stranger, not completely,' she thought.

Reaching into the pocket of her hoodie, Nellie pulled out the carefully folded letter from Blake. The words it contained, coupled with her grandfather's story, had been, for lack of a better word, an 'awakening'. Everything Blake had said in his letter resonated with her and opened her mind to the possibility, the chance, that maybe there was something more, something good…if only she could be brave enough to leave her foxhole.

But Fate wasn't one to make anything easy.

After fruitlessly searching for Blake, she had reluctantly retreated to her homeroom class, planning to continue her search throughout the day if need be. At the least, Nellie figured she would find him at the tryouts for New Directions, but that wasn't until the end of the day.

No matter Fate's plan, Nellie didn't intend to wait to find Blake.

As Nellie firmed her resolve, Principal Figgins continued his monotone briefing of McKinley.

'**New Directions will be having tryouts in the Auditorium this afternoon. Fans of Air Supply will find their time sufficiently rewarded.' **

From his classroom, Blake looked up at the PA speaker, reminded, once more, of the many 'firsts' this day would hopefully hold.

All night he had second-guessed his decision to leave the letter for the girl with the locker beside his. Taken the wrong way, the contents could, and probably would, scare off most; especially when no one else in McKinley knew him enough to tell her that Blake Ryan wasn't crazy, or a stalker…or a crazy stalker.

The worry had kept him up until nearly two o'clock, but this morning he didn't feel exhausted, quite the opposite really; he felt nervous, excited…alive.

Leaving New York had been devastating; his friends, his school, hell, his whole life, severed with a one-way trip to Ohio. Over the last few weeks, anger had been his only ally, giving him the will to simply 'power' through the hurt, but as it was for anyone, the anger was ultimately not enough. He had been, and still was, furious with the events that had led him to Lima. But try as he might, Blake couldn't transition his 'anger' into 'hate'; it simply wasn't his nature.

So instead of hating the new people and school around him, he had decided to treat the whole affair as he imagined soldiers would treat the battlefield, or the convicted, prison. His plan had been to keep his head down, do his time, and in twenty-four months he would return to New York and the life he had been forced to abandon.

But that course had changed, when he saw her.

He wasn't someone that skipped over cracks in the sidewalk or avoided black cats, but he simply couldn't shake the feeling that the girl had been sent to him, like some storybook savior or a guardian angel. Blake was completely aware of how crazy he sounded, but the reality wasn't in the telling but in the 'feeling' of the meeting. It sounded so clichéd, even to him, but the truth of it was that he had seen her and she had somehow cut through the anger with just one look. Not because she was beautiful, which she was, and not because of what she said, which wasn't much, but because of what he saw, what he felt, when he met her gaze. He had seen more than his physical reflection in her eyes, he had seen a kindred soul, one with the same question about life. There, in that moment, locked in the presence of the other, Blake believed that they had each seen exactly what they both needed…Hope.

Blake wanted to feel that way again, if for no other reason than it was a hell of a lot better than walking around pissed, but more importantly he wanted to answer the question in the girl's eyes. He wanted to help her the way their brief encounter had helped him from his anger.

It was the least he could do for an angel.

'**Please be aware that several students have reported intestinal distress this morning, claiming dysentery-like symptoms from strangely shaped baked goods. On an unrelated note will Ms. Brittany Pierce, please report to the office after announcements,' **Figgins voice echoed from the speaker box in the hall.

'Jesus I have to get to class,' Michael pleaded with Charlie, as they walked down the same hall.

'Hold on a second,' Booth said as he finished a text and tapped 'send', 'And please stop calling me 'Jesus'. Its flattering but a little sacrilegious, don't you think?'

Michael rolled his eyes but waited on his 'boss'.

'Okay,' Charlie put his phone in his pocket and looked over at Michael, 'What have you found out about that…other thing I had you look into?'

'The girl with the locker beside Ryan's?', Michael clarified.

'Yes,' Charlie purred, 'Who is she?'

Checking his own phone, Michael shook his head,

'I haven't gotten the e-mail yet but I should know sometime today. Soon as I get a name, I'll run it through the Student Directory and get a pic. Once I have it compiled, I'll forward it to your phone.'

'Good,' Charlie nodded his approval, 'Very, very good.'

'Why her?', Michael questioned, 'I mean what makes this 'mystery girl' so special?'

Charlie stopped walking and turned to Michael…a predatory smile adorning his face,

'My dear, Mikey, she's the 'one that got away', and no one gets away from me…ever. Now get to class, slacker, I'll text you later.'

As Michael nearly ran away, Charlie contemplated the lie he had just told the sophomore. Sure, he meant what he had said but really it was more for the 'role he was playing' than any real maliciousness. No his real reason for seeking out the girl wasn't because of some predatory 'hunt', though one might call his real posturing just as animalistic. His motivation came from somewhere more carnal, somewhere from the base desires found in all men, but more prominent in creatures like Charlie.

Charlie Booth had liked what he had seen.

Her face had been partially concealed by the hood of her sweatshirt, but what remained visible had been…intriguing. No, more than that, more than a curiosity, the girl occupied a fairly prevalent position in the cook top of his mind, and Charlie firmly believed that the two of them should meet, if only to douse his growing obsession. However, there was another player on the field, one that was currently in the lead.

And for that reason and that reason alone, Blake Ryan would be removed from the game.

Licking his lips, Charlie continued down the hall, accompanied by the dark thoughts of the sinister.

(Author's Note: This is my original post before I tried the 'camera crawl'. My thanks to all for the great feedback!)


	15. Drawing Fire Scene 15

'**Finally, the Ohio weather service has issued a thunderstorm advisory for the greater Lima area, so I would encourage all of you to unplug your ear-buddies occasionally and look to the skies. Now let's go and have a boring and thoroughly event-free day.'**

Principal Figgins voice reverberated for a moment, calling attention to the tentative inhale McKinley took before the start of a every school session, and his wish, echoing with that last second of his broadcast, seemed destined to become very, very hollow.

His plan in motion and his will being wrought, Charlie began to roam in the general direction of his first class, but before the halls filled, the handsome boy with the ugly soul started to bob his head, following the rhythm in his mind and the beat of his own drum . Shifting into a a slide, Charlie executed a perfect spin and began to sing.

'_Let's Go! Make no excuses now, I'm talking here and now, I'm talking here and now.'_

Signaling the end of homeroom, a bell sounded, and the classroom doors opened simultaneously, flooding the wide hallway with the entire student body. As they came close and passed by him, Charlie half-growled, half-sang to them, as a big, bad wolf would to a red-hooded rider, but despite his ferocity, his real animosity was reserved for only one of McKinley's students, Blake Ryan.

'_Let's go! Your time is running out! I'm talking here and now, I'm talking here and now!'_

Charlie moved by a classroom door and rounded a corner just as Nellie walked out of the door and moved in the opposite direction. Hearing the beat, as well, she grabbed the straps of her backpack, and for the first time, held her head high for all of McKinley to see. Laced with soul and strength, Nellie's voice picked up the song.

'_It's not about what you've done, It's about what you're doing.'_

With the cadence of unheard war-drums propelling her stride and hope in her gaze, she scanned the crowd, seeking to separate Blake from the rest of the throng. Nellie needed to see him; she needed to know, if Fate had finally granted her a favor…or if it was playing another of its games.

'_It's all about where you're going, no matter where you've been.'_

With one last glance around the halls, Nellie walked into her first class…just as Blake rounded the corner. Weaving in and out of the crowd with fluid dance spins and slides, he looked everywhere for Nellie. As his eyes scoured the crowd, his voice took up the song, with the controlled burn of determination.

'_There ain't no better time. I'm talking here and now.'_

Blake pointed to the floor, emphasizing the next line and giving even more fuel to his fire to find Nellie.

'_I'm talking here and now!' _

Not losing his confidence in finding the girl from yesterday, Blake Ryan charged down the hall…unaware of the plot against him. With his run, McKinley parted, giving the large boy space to speed.

'_Let's go! Right now is where you shine, I'm talking here and now, I'm talking here and now'_

As Blake danced, lost in the song, he turned back toward the way he had come, and at the other end of the 'canyon' made by the rest of the students stood Charlie Booth. Each eyed the other with the finely honed edge of gunslingers, but unlike those old western combatants, the pair began to take 'paces' toward each other.

Smiling Charlie took up the song and challenged Blake with the lyrics.

'_Let's make it happen.'_

Not afraid of the Perez Hilton wanna-be in front of him, Blake responded with his own lyrical attack.

'_Let's go!'_

Again Charlie smiled. With three steps, he was toe-to-toe with Blake, his own height allowing him to stare his opponent in the eye, and as four unblinking orbs met, Charlie sang his promise of a reckoning.

'_Let's make it happen tonight.'_

Finished with Charlie's games, Blake shouted his last line directly into his adversary's face, and the whole of McKinley froze and bore witness.

'_LET'S GO!'_

The music ended, and silence slid into the space, waiting for Charlie, McKinley's unelected King of Kings, to respond to such a brazen, public attack. But such a scene was exactly what Booth had wished. Now McKinley knew that Blake stood against Charlie and the Croparazzi, and the school would soon know what happened to those that took such a stand.

Closing to within 'kissing distance' of Blake, Charlie whispered.

'Soon.'

Without another word, Booth turned his back on Blake and walked away, as Mckinley returned to life around them.

(Author's Note: Once again thanks for all the super words! I hope this works…choreography doesn't translate well :) Song by Calvin Harris. Also, for all the Blellie fans, I'll quote Charlie's line, 'soon' ;) )


	16. Drawing Fire Scene 16

(End of the School Day)

'So that's the name you decided on, huh?', Blake couldn't keep the skepticism from his face, 'Sort of 'informal' isn't it?'

The student walking beside him shrugged,

'Not really 'informal', more grounded, maybe. Why, what do you really think?'

Blake smiled,

'I would say you were going for 'hip' but I'm not that good a liar.'

Long dread-locks bounced from shoulder to chest, as the other boy laughed in honest amusement. From his 'extended' hair, to his white v-neck shirt, suspenders, worn jeans, and bare feet, he seemed cut from a cloth woven during Summers of Love and Peace Corps missions. Where the uninitiated might mistake his 'look' for an attempt to be trendy or defiant in the face of the teenage condition, Joseph Hart shattered assumed societal norms, with just the first few words of any conversation. Strangely enough he was exactly as he seemed; one of the rarer creatures on the planet Earth, a teenage Christian.

Blake's eyes still scanned and searched hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl from yesterday, but he was starting to think that she was either avoiding him or not at school. Luckily he and Joe had a few classes together and quickly discovered they had quite a bit in common. Given the so far unsuccessful search and the tension of his encounter with Charlie Booth, he was grateful for both Joe's bright personality and his company.

'Besides the name, what do you think?', Joe asked as they moved farther down the hall, 'Think you'd be interested in coming to a meeting? Everyone is welcome.'

'I'd love to,' Blake nodded his head at his new friend, 'but I need to ask you a serious question first.'

'Shoot,' Joe answered immediately.

Blake stopped and turned to face Hart,

'Do I…I don't know…send out some kind of 'vibe'? Something that says 'I want to join a club'. I'm not trying to be rude, the opposite really. In New York no one ever asked me to do or join anything, but here at McKinley, people seem to…I don't know…'read' me a lot better. Does that make any sense at all?'

Clapping Blake on the shoulder, Joe tucked a mischievous dread-lock behind his ear and smiled,

'It makes perfect sense, brother, and I have an answer…but I have to warn you, it might sound a little 'preachy'.'

Nodding, Blake encouraged the unique boy,

'Preach away, man, I really want to hear what you think.'

'Honestly,' Joe began, 'You look like you are searching for something. Not to say that you look confused or anything, you just look like someone that needs…'

'Direction?', Blake answered, when Joe paused.

'No, not that,' Hart retorted, 'you have your head on straight, and you're not lost. It's like you seem to be looking for something you didn't know you needed.'

Looking down for a moment, Blake really thought about Joe's statement, as thoughts of New York and his departure flashed through his head...followed by the image of the girl from yesterday. With another nod, he looked back up at the other boy,

'You're right. I mean, I think that's it exactly.'

Joe smiled and shrugged,

'Whether I'm right or not, you're sending out a great vibe to the universe. It pulls similar people to you, other people that are searching too, and the more friends you have walking the same path, with the same goodness of heart, the better everyone's chances of finding what they are after.'

Again Joe shrugged and smiled,

'Why do you think He put us in the same classes? I'm looking for something too.'

'What?' Blake inquired.

With another smile, Joe said,

'Man, I was hoping you could tell me.'

Sharing another laugh, the pair started walking back down the hall.

'Thanks,' a relieved look floated across Blake's face, 'for everything. I was going crazy today and talking has seriously helped…so thanks for that.'

'You are more than welcome,' Joe answered with the humility of one that didn't yet realize his limitless potential.

Seeing that a little levity was needed, Hart shifted the conversation back to their original topic.

'You don't like it?', Joe asked, 'Because I think 'God Squad' sounds pretty tough.'

His introspection and worry vanquished by Joe's effortless positivity, Blake laughed, unsure how to answer, so he opted for honesty…as he always did,

'I love the concept, but the name…the name sounds a little…'

'Please don't say 'boy band',' Joe begged.

Blake barked out another laugh,

'I was going to say that it sounds like you're one half of the WWE Tag Team Champions.'

With a brilliant smile, Hart took the criticism constructively, but his face quickly exploded with excitement.

'What would my name be! If I was a wrestler, that is, what would my ring-name be?'

Laughing Blake thought for a second and then said around a smile,

'Hart Attack.'

Joe joined in with some 'self-ribbing', and shook his dreads,

'The Predator!'

Both boys started laughing, but before Blake could take his turn another voice inadvertently posed another possible in-ring moniker.

'Teen Jesus! Teen Jesus!' Principal Figgins shouted as he moved slowly through the crowd.

Joe looked down at his bare feet and his eyes widened,

'I've gotta go, Blake…see you in thirty in the auditorium.'

'Teen Jesus! I need to see your footwear!', Figgins yelled again, getting closer.

'Go!', Blake laughed, and Joe sprinted away in the opposite direction.

Seeing the boy disappear into the faceless student body, Figgins stopped, exhaled, and moved off toward the front office. Blake followed a few steps behind McKinley's leader, needing to drop off a few forms to the school secretary.

A few moments later and Blake was sitting on the front office bench, waiting for the secretary to return, so he could drop off the information forms from his enrollment packet. Behind him through the glass partition, McKinley had become a ghost town. Where only minutes before, hundreds of students had made final trips to lockers to gather books and homework, now there was only Blake, the ambient background noise of the teachers in their rooms, and the sound of the storm raging outside. To further quiet the building, all athletic practices had been cancelled due to the weather, with New Directions as the only extra curricular that was still meeting.

A dark haired boy walked into the office, ignored Blake, and took up a spot at the long counter. He was dripping wet and obviously irritated; enough so that he yelled out,

'Anyone working!'

Principal Figgins stuck his head out of his office and growled in his deep voice,

'Lower your voice, young man. We will get to you in a moment.'

Protesting the delay, the boy continued,

'I don't need help, Principal Figgins, I just want to tell someone that there's a silver Tacoma in the lot with the lights on.'

'You're kidding me,' Blake rolled his eyes and stood up.

The boy turned and looked at him,

'The Tacoma yours?'

'Yeah,' Blake sighed, 'thanks.'

''Grab an umbrella or something, man,' the student warned, 'It's like a water ballon firing-squad out there.'

Principal Figgins retreated back into his office, as Blake looked first at the packet of forms in his hand, then his watch, and then in the direction of his truck.

Seeing his dilemma, the dark haired student nodded toward the secretary's 'In-Box' on the counter,

'Don't wait around for her, man, she's always getting coffee or something. Just drop off whatever and she'll get it. That's what everyone does.'

Nodding again, Blake dropped the forms in the indicated box and headed out the door.

'Thanks again!,' Ryan yelled over his shoulder.

'Don't mention it,' Michael replied.

With a quick scan of the area, Michael deftly snatched the forms and put them in his backpack. As soon as he cleared the office door, his phone was at his ear. Static crackled and cut through the line, threatening to drop the call, but Michael heard TD answer and was able to say, 'he's on his way, let the others know,' before the call ended.

Shaking the water out of his thick hair, Michael pulled a black rain jacket from his backpack, donned it and put his flip cam in the pocket.

'Time for the main event,' he thought and moved toward the parking lot.


	17. Drawing Fire Scene 17

Nellie slumped down underneath her locker, in a pose eerily reminiscent of Blake's the day before. Around her the halls were empty, with her only companion the machine gun staccato of the heavy rain against the brick-and-mortar might of timeless William McKinley High. Hugging her legs to her, she placed her forehead against the warm denim covering her knees.

'It wasn't supposed to be like this,' she thought, 'I was supposed to see him before the tryouts.'

Now she would be forced into a group situation that she didn't want. There would be the awkward conversation, when she tried to explain that she wasn't there to 'try out' but to see Blake; still, she couldn't think of another way.

Running different, less embarrassing scenarios had yielded little results. Despite her grandfather's assurances that he would be fine, she didn't dare leave him alone while she waited for the tryouts to end. And who was to say that Blake wouldn't leave with the group, making her patience, and the entire day, an abject failure?

Just then, she heard the pounding footfalls of someone running toward her, and Nellie froze. The steps closed until they stopped just next to her. The deep pants of the winded runner made a metronome of the moment, working a beat much slower than the thundering of her heart. Nellie wanted to say something, to look up, to move…to…to… to do 'anything', but her nerves had petrified her in the 'amber of instinct', keeping her 'safe' and 'invisible' despite her wish to be anything but.

Beside her, the panting continued and was coupled with the clumsy clanging and fumbling of a combination lock. A few mutters and under-the-breath curses made Nellie smile, and she actually felt herself melting a bit. Finally Blake's locker opened, with the sounds of breathing and general textbook reshuffling, floating down to Nellie.

'He'll be gone in a second…do something!' she pleaded with herself.

But she couldn't move.

All day she had carried herself like a changed woman. She had sought out Blake, hoping to find him, and now here he was…but the habits that had kept her safe, now cursed her by freezing her joints and voice.

'Please,' she begged of herself, 'Please don't let this moment slip by. Please…take a chance.'

And then, as if on cue, the voice of her grandfather appeared, 'If I hadn't been a fool, stuck my head out, and drew fire that day, I never would've met her,' and his heartfelt words warmed the chill of her terror.

Before she could stop herself, Nellie spoke,

'I've been looking for you all day.'

Steeling her will and driving her muscles with the whip of her grandfather's words, Nellie looked up…into the eyes of Todd 'TD' Dawson.

'Oh you have, have you,' the hulk leered down at her, 'you been looking for something I got maybe?'

The brutish boy grabbed the front of his filthy jeans, as if his point needed emphasis.

Sliding away in a crab-crawl, Nellie stared up in horror and tried to answer,

'N…n…no, I…I thought…you were someone…different.'

'Someone different,' TD spat, 'What're you a lesbo or something? That why your hair's so damn short?'

Slamming Blake's locker closed, TD seemed ready to continue his homophobic, sexist assault, when his phone rang. Turning his attention from Nellie, the ogre brought the small device up to his head, but immediately pulled it away, when a crackled of static blasted through the speaker. When the signal cleared, TD returned the phone to his ear.

As close as she was and with the school silent around her, Nellie was able to hear the caller perfectly.

'_He's on his way, let the others know.'_

Seeming to realize that he was late for something, TD ignored her and fumbled with his phone, calling 'the others', Nellie presumed.

'Booth!…Charlie…I can barely hear you,' TD practically shouted, 'Damn storms screwing everything! If you can hear me, he's on his way! Ryan is on his way!'

Nellie's eyes grew wide with fright at the mention of first Charlie Booth and then Blake's surname.

'I dropped off that thing too!', TD yelled in poorly hidden code, 'Can you hear me! I'm on my way…I'm on my way! Be at the parking lot in two minutes! Don't do nothing without me!'

Looking down at his phone, TD swore,

'Piece of crap, no good, foreign piece of…'

Jamming the phone in his black hooded rain jacket, Todd Dawson turned back time and sprinted toward the parking lot like the football player he had once been.

Shaking and scared beyond the capacity for rational thought, Nellie lurched to her feet and looked all around for someone to help her. She needed a miracle to show up on a white horse.

But she didn't get the hero on a horse…she got the hero in the chair.

Artie wheeled around the corner, and his face brightened, when he saw that Nellie was waiting for him to take her to the tryouts,

'This is rad! I really didn't think you were going to be here, but this is great! Let's…'

Nellie ran up to him, and the first of her tears began to fall,

'Artie! They're going to do something! The Croparazzi, Charlie! They put something in Blake's locker! They're going to do something to him! In the parking lot! Right now!'

Most boys Artie's age would have required more facts, or at the very least a more detailed explanation of the events at hand, but the senior had long ago been forced to adapt and overcome to all of life's curveballs. Instead of waiting for Nellie to even complete her barrage of pleas, Artie's phone was in his hand and he was calling Will Schuester…but he had no signal.

Outside, as if to mock them, a crack of lightning flashed through the sky and the lights flickered in McKinley.

Realizing that his call had dropped, Nellie started pulling on the sleeve of his white dress shirt,

'Artie! We have to go! You can stop them…you stood up to Charlie yesterday! We have to get to the parking lot!'

But Artie shook his head,

'I can't…'

Nellie's eyes burned with an emotional cocktail of fear and rage,

'What do you mean! Of course you can! Come on we have to stop th…'

Artie calmly put his hand over hers but used enough power in his voice to get her attention,

'No, Nellie, I can't. The steps. I can't get down them fast enough.'

Behind his glasses, Artie's eyes bore into hers,

'I will go for help, but the Auditorium is at the other end of the school. Nellie, you have to do it…you have to slow them down until we get there.'

Already shaking in fear, Nellie's head spasmed back and forth,

'N..n..no, I can't, Artie! I c…c…can't do it!'

Again his eyes drilled into hers, commanding her to listen,

'You're the only one that can.'

No longer shaking her head, Nellie stared in complete shock unable to do anything…let alone confront her greatest fear.

'He wanted to know your name,' Artie's voice cut through the chaos, 'I blackmailed him into trying out for New Directions, and Blake went along with it…just to learn your name.'

Tears of joy, fear, hope, and hopelessness bled from her eyes, threatening to cloud and blur her view of Artie. Roughly wiping them away, she looked down the hall in the direction of the parking lot.

'There's no more time, Nellie,' Artie spoke firmly, 'I'll bring help as soon as I can. Slow them down…keep them from their plan.'

'Draw their fire,' Nellie whispered.

Outside the lightning flashed, and McKinley's lights flickered again.

'Yes,' the senior said, while turning his chair around, 'Draw them off of him, Nellie, and we'll be there soon.'

Already wheeling at full speed back toward the Auditorium, Artie yelled back,

'Go, Nellie! Go, now!'

Flashes of her grandmother and grandfather barraged her mind, but it was the image of Blake, with his warm, knowing smile that set her mind and changed the course of her life forever.

Down the hallway she ran, dropping her backpack to gain speed. Faster and faster her legs blurred, carrying her toward the parking lot, the Croparazzi, Blake Ryan and her destiny.

She ran for all that she had lost.

She ran for all that she had.

She ran for all that she hoped.


	18. Drawing Fire Scene 18

(Student Parking Lot)

Not one to be ignored, or belittled, in the course of human affairs, Mother Nature had chosen that moment to make a cameo in the unfolding play. Thunder rolled through the space, washing over the high school in a wave of sound and fury. Lit by the violent lightning storm raging overhead, McKinley's student parking lot seemed foreboding and medieval, a place where evil-doers made Frankenstonian mockeries of the truth. It was an open-air dungeon of water and electrical savagery, chosen by the malicious mind of a vengeful boy…the perfect setting for the reckoning to come.

Wanting to avoid complete saturation, Blake hoped to make it to the glowing lights of his truck before the deluge soaked through his jacket and hat. Ten steps away, he triggered his key fob to unlock the door, and, much to his surprise, he heard the triple-'beep' of success. Not wasting a second, the large boy deftly opened the driver's side door, jumped in, and slammed the portal behind him.

'Whoa!,' he yelled with the childish delight he assumed everyone felt after having run through a particularly powerful rainstorm.

But the mirth of the moment was replaced with confusion, when first his truck doors locked and then his dome lights, headlights, and all other electrical devices in the Tacoma turned off. For a second, Blake thought that he had made it back to his truck just in time to witness the death of his battery, but only when he tried to open his door and found the handle damaged and inoperable did the truth begin to dawn on him.

'Soon,' Charlie's comment from earlier in the day mocked him.

'Son if a b…,' Blake spat, the anger rising inside him, but he interrupted the curse, when a flash of lightning revealed several dark bags on his passenger's seat.

Unsure what to make of the 'gifts', he tentatively touched the dark plastic of the sacks, half-expecting them to house some beast or reptile, but his fingers met with nothing more than the unnatural geometry of the inanimate. Confused Blake first tried the windows and looked to his passenger door handle, but without power the former wouldn't function and the latter was in the same condition as the driver's side. Realizing he was stuck, Blake decided to carefully place the bags on the floor, so he could better maneuver without the threat of disturbing whatever Charlie had left him. However, as soon as he tried to move the bags, he discovered that the bottoms had been cleverly slit as to appear whole but when the contents shifted, they tore open…and prescription pill bottles rolled out in odd clumps.

'What the hell?', Blake swore, as he tried to comprehend what was going on.

Without thinking, he reached down and picked up one of the bottles, hoping to figure out what was going on, but when he did, two more containers came with it, apparently stuck to the first bottle. That's when Blake realized that not only were the bottles joined together, but they were also affixed to his fingers…held fast by a clear coat of glue or lacquer. The compromised garbage bag dripped some sort of oil onto his seat, explaining why the prescription containers hadn't clung to it instead.

Horror washed over Blake when he realized, that all of the bottles scattered around his truck, were now stuck in place. Knowing that this couldn't be all Charlie had in store for him, Blake used his free hand to rub some of the oil from the bag onto his palm. When finished, he furiously fell on the bottle in his hand, trying to pull it free without taking his skin with it. But then he froze.

'I'm on school grounds,' he whispered out loud.

If found on McKinley High property with a controlled substance in his possession, he would face expulsion and potentially much, much worse. Blake shook his head in disbelief, just then realizing exactly the type of enemy he had in Charlie Booth.

Finally freeing the bottle from his hand with only a minimal loss of skin, Blake again tried to open his door but the entire locking mechanism seemed to have been sabotaged. The handle functioned normally but it appeared disconnected from the actual lock; all it did was loosely move back and forth, mocking him with the normalcy of the act. Frantically looking everywhere, Blake's eyes scanned passed his window just as another flash of lightning illuminated the parking lot…and the seven hooded figures approaching his truck.

Too shocked to immediately look away, the junior's eyes widened in understanding, when he saw what they carried; smart-phones, flip cameras, and in one case, an expensive looking handheld camera, all protected by clear plastic bags. His eyes shot to the litter of prescription bottles covering the seat and floor of his truck…the truck he was currently sitting in…the truck on school grounds.

Throwing his shoulder against the door of the Tacoma, Blake tried to use his strength to free himself, but it wouldn't budge. Crawling over his seat, he ignored the bottles that stuck to his jeans and threw all of his weight against the passenger side door…to no effect. Without hesitation he turned his assault on his window, but despite what every television show had led him to believe, the glass did not shatter.

Trapped without a means to escape, Blake looked back through his truck toward the advancing hooded horde. Beginning to surrender to the inevitable, he realized that his stay at McKinley would be a short one, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Or would have, if he hadn't thought of the girl whose name he didn't even know.

Revitalized, Blake Ryan revisited his rage against the door of his truck while his eyes furiously scanned the interior looking for anything that might aid him.

But for every second he fought, Charlie Booth and his minions moved ever closer.


	19. Drawing Fire Scene 19

Lungs burning with exertion, Nellie took the steps in giant leaps, using gravity's pull to add to her speed. Ahead of her the double doors to the student parking lot waited, her last line of defense protecting her from the Croparazzi. As she reached the exit, she paused; the fear of the paramount moment again proving to be a juggernaut not easily bested. Every muscle in her quivered with terror, causing her whole body to spasm; making her movements seem forced, as if she were the marionette of some sadistic puppeteer. Everything she had steeled herself against lay just outside, and her body entire struggled against the course she had set.

Charlie Booth and the Croparazzi were the nightmarish embodiments of her deepest fears. Their kind had caused her introversion…had sent her from the land of the seeing to a place of loneliness and invisibility. Every step she had taken over the last two years had been to put distance between herself and people like Charlie, and now she had to take steps toward him.

To stop the Croparazzi, she would have to let them see her, and once they did, Nellie knew she could never return to her lonely existence. For good or ill, she would be 'seen' in McKinley, but none of that would matter, if she couldn't open the doors and face her fate. Her breathing, augmented by her flight, came in quick gulps, and her deep brown eyes seemed larger, masking her with the appearance of one much younger. Blurred with the violent trembling of her fright, Nellie's hands reached up and slowly depressed the large bar-lock across the steel exit. One great swallow of air later, and she peeked out.

To her left and about twenty yards away, she saw Blake's Tacoma. The truck was rocking back and forth violently, as if a war was being waged within. Nellie gasped, believing that she was too late, and whatever evil Charlie had planned had already befallen Blake. However, when a monstrous flash of lightning illuminated the scene, Nellie could see that the boy seemed to be alone in his truck; alone, but apparently trapped. The great bolt also revealed the conductor of this malevolent orchestra, as Charlie and his Croparazzi philharmonic descended on the snared Ryan. Closing the door partially, she almost retreated back into the shadows, into her invisibility, but the thought left as quickly as it had arrived.

Nellie's breathing slowed, her heart still pounded, her body still shook…but like a warrior of old, she advanced.

The great steel double doors closed behind her.

Within heartbeats, she was drenched to the bone; her hoodie plastered against her thin body, making her look like a candle not long for the world of light. Nellie knew that she could not physically stop the Croparazzi from advancing, so she would have to give them something that they craved more than Blake Ryan. She would give them 'embarrassment' and 'amusement'; she would have to give them a 'story'.

Something to exploit on their website…a target too rich and rewarding to ignore.

She would give them her.

Slowly Nellie unzipped her hoodie, and her own tears started to fall with the rain, mingling on her cheeks, fresh water and salt. Pulling first one arm free of the soaked garment and then the other, she dropped her last-line-of-defense at the door and stepped toward the truck, moving behind the stalking Croparazzi. Wearing only a simple white v-neck, short-sleeved shirt, Nellie unconsciously tried to cover herself, when the rain made the thin material translucent…revealing her bra and skin beneath.

'No, that won't be enough,' she thought, 'Not for Charlie.'

Tears falling faster than the rain, Nellie lowered her hands until she stood tall, readying herself for the attack to come. Though her shirt and bra still kept her from being completely exposed, her current state left little to the imagination.

Black hair touched her cheeks, running with the torrential downpour, but somehow despite her state, the situation, and her tears, Nellie rose above the whole scene, a beauty from an age long lost. In a last ditch effort, one final, violent tremor of fear ripped through her, but she stood against it and won. Tilting her face to the ruptured sky, she let the rain wash over her, and Nellie's hands balled into fists at her side.

With the enemies circling for the kill, Nellie, like her grandmother decades ago, called them away from their target and drew their fire to her.

'HEY!', she screamed into the storm, rising to her tip-toes with the sheer power of the yell.

Even the jealousy and vanity of the raging Mother Nature seemed to lose strength in the face of such a selfless, courageous act, and out of respect, the storm seemed to pause just as Nellie shouted, adding strength to her scream by subtracting the deafening din of the violent weather. The challenge that exploded from Nellie's lungs bounced off the bricks of William McKinley High, echoing like the thunder.

Her 'battle cry' issued, she turned her gaze from the sky and saw seven hooded heads swing toward her. Lifting her chin, she kept her eyes on the one she knew to be Charlie Booth. Never breaking her stare, Nellie opened her arms wide and again challenged the evil boy.

'HEY!', she roared in defiance.

Like a squadron of aircraft, the seven hooded villains banked away from Blake Ryan…and set their crosshairs on Nellie.

(Moments Earlier)

**'HEY!'**

The unbridled rage of the shout caught Charlie Booth off guard, and he actually jerked in surprise. Wheeling his head around, his mind failed to initially comprehend exactly what he was seeing. A girl stood, nearly naked in the face of both the storm and the Croparazzi. Charlie's mouth opened and closed several times trying to find the words that could define the moment, but he ultimately failed, as those words did not exist.

Another hooded figure moved beside him, and Michael whispered,

'That's her, Charlie, that's the girl from yesterday…Penelope Baker.'

'How,' Charlie looked at Nellie in wonder, 'utterly fascinating.'

'She's trying to distrac…', Michael began.

'You think,' Charlie snapped.

On cue, Nellie screamed again, but this time she was staring right at Charlie.

**'HEY!'**

Unconsciously, Booth licked his lips, tasting the sweet, freshness of the rainwater, and decided his answer to Nellie's challenge.

'Surround her,' he said to the others, 'Don't let her get away.'

'Charlie,' Michael spoke up, 'She won't try to get away because she's trying to keep us from Ryan. What are you doing?'

Charlie smiled,

'Giving her exactly what she wants. We'll leave Ryan alone, but I want her penned in. She might think she's in command but Ms. Baker will quickly learn the totem pole goes much higher than her perch.'

Michael seemed to want to continue the argument, but ultimately he fell in line as the Croparazzi abandoned their attack of Blake Ryan and turned instead on the defiant Nellie Baker.

(Moments Earlier)

**'HEY!'**

So powerful was the single word that Blake stopped trying to escape and looked out his window.

Beyond the Croparazzi, he bore witness to the most beautiful thing he had ever, or would ever see...the challenge of Nellie Baker.

Fear, much stronger than what he had felt for himself, blanketed him.

'No,' he whispered.

Then he saw Charlie and his minions turn their backs on him and move toward the girl.

'NO!', Blake smacked the glass violently, 'NO! Come get me! I'm right here! BOOTH, you piece of crap, I'm right here!'

But if they heard him, his taunts were ignored in favor of the more comely target of Nellie.

Frantically, Blake smashed his fists against the glass and directed his screams toward the girl,

'RUN! RUN! DON'T DO THIS! GET OUT OF HERE!'

But again if he could be heard, his target did not react.

'Son of a bitch!', Blake swore and again tried to find a way out of his truck.

Everything electronic was dead, and the whole damn truck was electronic.

'Think, Blake, think,' the boy spoke aloud.

For some reason, he thought of the day before, when he had forgotten to simply use his key to open his door, and somehow he knew that the answer to his escape could be found in that scenario.

'What the hell doesn't need power!', he shouted in frustration.

And then it hit him.

His eyes fell on the small sliding window in the back of his cab…the one that wasn't powered by anything more than the muscle of the person opening it. At only fourteen inches by fourteen inches, the square opening offered little 'wiggle-room' but Blake didn't care. Sliding the window open, he started the painful process of escape.

Blake kept silent so as not to warn the Croparazzi, but he kept his eyes on the girl…and prayed he wouldn't be too late.

(Author's Note: The 'moments earlier' cue represents a change in persepctive. Again thank you all for the very kind reviews. This has been such an amazing process. You are all wonderful :) )


	20. Drawing Fire Scene 20

Despite the suffocating feeling of capture, Nellie allowed the Croparazzi to first flank and then surround her. Faceless inside the deep night of their hoods, she stopped trying to identify the supporting cast and focused her complete attention straight ahead. Six black-hooded fiends lay siege to her castle-on-the-hill, and all that was left was to discuss the terms of her surrender; terms that were to be delivered by the seventh of their number, their general, Charlie Booth.

Two of the Croparazzi broke ranks, creating a gap through which Nellie could escape…or through which another could enter the circle. A beat later, Charlie proved the latter true and passed between his two thugs. With the necessary gravitas for a scene such as theirs, he slowly lifted his hands, grabbed the edge of his hood, and pulled it back. The smile on his face encompassed the total spectrum of potential expression; from the innocence of a childish grin, to the carnality of a lecherous leer. Charlie's whole demeanor promised that something primal was about to happen and that he would love every minute of it. A child of the Internet Age, Booth represented the best and worst of his generation: intelligent and resourceful but emotionally stunted, with a practiced brutality cultivated behind the safety of a computer monitor and now implemented behind the numbers of his gang and the last name of a powerful family.

Slowly he started to circle Nellie inside the larger ring of the positioned Croparazzi. Leaving her eyes focused straight ahead, Nellie tried to keep from trembling and sought to eliminate her tears, but when Booth moved behind her, the malevolence oozing from the boy compromised her efforts. She began to cry anew, and her shoulders shuddered, as the muscles beneath her thin flesh seized. Suddenly, Charlie's hand touched her nearly bare back, and Nellie flinched instinctively.

'There, there, Penelope, no need to be scared,' he purred into her ear from his position behind her, 'This is what you wanted, right? You wanted our attention…you wanted 'my' attention.'

Continuing his revolution, Charlie returned to stand in front of her.

'Well, Penelope,' Booth spread his arms, inviting her to look at his lackeys, 'we are all ears. What's so important that it simply couldn't wait?'

Frozen in terror, she used every ounce of her willpower to match Charlie's stare, but in so doing, Nellie did not have anything left to answer his question. She only prayed that he took her lack of a response as a display of strength and not the byproduct of her fear. However, Charlie viewed her silence as neither, and instead used it as just another cue in his game; one that he would play whether Nellie cooperated or not.

Placing a finger on her lips, his eyes narrowed in sadistic pleasure, 'Hold that thought, Penelope.'

Never taking his eyes from hers, Charlie spoke to the Croparazzi, 'Boys, let's capture this moment for posterity.'

As one, the hooded figures brandished electronics of every kind: smartphones, flip-cams, and one larger camera. Daring to break her gaze from Charlie's, Nellie watched as an LED flared to life on each recording device, marking them 'live' and ready to shoot. In one beat of her pounding heart, the Croparazzi had become her 'firing squad'.

The cameras represented everything she had ever feared. With the pictures they were about to take, Nellie would be cast into a 'light' of Charlie Booth's choosing, and she knew that whatever he ultimately did, the rest of her existence at McKinley would be damned by his machinations. And she would have to endure it. Dropping out was not an option, nor was home schooling, as both choices would lead to the state discovering her grandfather's condition. For two years she had stayed safe, but Nellie now knew that for the next two years, her's would be a life lived in constant ridicule…all because of the evil-hearted boy in front of her.

Charlie stepped back, unbuttoned his dark rain jacket, pulled it off and dropped it to the ground. Immersed in the sheer ecstasy of his power trip, the boy looked up to the heavens and started to laugh. In response, the rain continued its assault of his thick dark locks and immediately soaked the slate grey, vintage Peter Gabriel t-shirt covering his tall frame, but lost in the moment as he was, Charlie could've cared less about whether or not his clothes were wet. This was his moment, and he intended to celebrate.

Corded muscles stretched all along Booth's neck, as he cackled, reminding Nellie of a snake unhinging its jaw to feed. Her breathing again turned shallow and rapid because she knew that like the serpent, Charlie was readying to strike. As if her thoughts were his to read, Booth stopped laughing and turned his poisoned eyes on her. All over her body they ran, recording every inch of her in greater detail than any of the Croparazzi's devices ever could. Determined to stand strong, Nellie balled her fists to keep from covering her exposed torso.

Finally, his white-hot lust stoked to near nova levels, Charlie began circling her again, but this time his words came not in the promised whispers used before but in the savagery of song.

'_Yeah I…I get to know your name, well and I could trace your private number, baby'_

Completing a revolution, Charlie motioned at the Croparazzi, and they began to film, spinning slowly in the opposite direction of their leader. Booth moved within inches of Nellie's face and licked his lips.

'_All I know is that to me, you look like you're lots of fun, open up your lovin' arms, I want some, want some.'_

His fingers ran along her face, and this time Nellie couldn't keep still. Freely crying, she jerked away from his touch, which only seemed to further excite the boy.

'_Well I…I set my sights on you and no one else will do.'_

Dexterously spinning like a dancer of merit, he placed his back against Nellie's, turned his head, and whispered his song into her ear; his lips so close they brushed her lobe.

'_And I, I've got to have my way now, baby. All I know is that to me you look like you're havin' fun.'_

Slowly, ever so slowly, Nellie felt something warm in her stomach, and as it smoldered, her shaking subsided. Not noticing the subtle change in his prey, Charlie moved back around and faced her.

'_Open up your lovin' arms, watch out, here I come!'_

Charlie moved in closer, readying for another barrage of his psychological assault, but before he could continue, Nellie's eyes cleared and her throat produced a song of its own.

'_**You shout it loud, but I can't hear a word you say. I'm talking loud, not saying much.'**_

Stunned by Nellie's counter-attack, Booth's eyes widened and the 'eyes' of the Croparazzi's cameras drank their fill of the powerful moment.

'_**I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet, you shoot me down, but I get up.'**_

Determined to regain the upper-hand, Charlie moved so close to Nellie that his body rested against hers.

'_You spin me right round, baby, right round like a record, baby.'_

Dragging his body along hers, he circled Nellie, touching the barely covered flesh of her arms, neck and stomach.

'_You spin me right round, baby, right round round round.'_

However when he again returned to her face, Nellie no longer cried but met his gaze with one of strength and power, and her song returned fire.

'_**Cut me down, but its you who'll have further to fall, ghost town and haunted love.'**_

Now desperate, Charlie nearly screamed his own song back at her.

'_All I know is that to me, you look like you're lots of fun.'_

Courage, both inherited from the atoms of her grandparents and newly found within her own DNA, pulsed through Nellie, and with pride of purpose, she took a step toward Charlie.

'_**Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones, I'm talking loud, not saying much.'**_

Too stunned to immediately continue, Charlie paused, but before he could resume, Nellie, her voice rising to a melodic scream, attacked.

'_**I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose, fire away, fire away, **_

_**ricochet, you take your aim, fire away, fire away.'**_

Nellie pressed forward, backing Charlie up until he ran into one of the other Croparazzi. The predatory look in Booth's eyes vanished…replaced by one of awe. Gone was the girl they had confronted, and in her stead a warrior queen resided. All around him, the Croparazzi lowered their cameras, unsure how to proceed, as it seemed the plan had gone to hell.

But Nellie wasn't finished. All the fear, all the loneliness, all of the hopelessness of the last few years rushed into her lyrics and blasted into Charlie, the Croparazzi, McKinley High and the storm surrounding them. There on her 'first' day, Nellie Baker was reborn; and her first cries were that of note and tune.

'_**You shoot me down, but I won't fall**_

_**I am titanium!**_

_**You shoot me down, but I won't fall.'**_

The last lines were for Charlie and Charlie alone, and so she planted herself directly in front of him and raged.

'_**I AM TITANIUM!**_

_**I AM TITANIUM!' **_

Lightning crashed and the following thunder joined in the echo of Nellie's final note, rocking the Croparazzi with a combination of the elemental and the emotional. Seemingly shocked at her own aggression, she nevertheless stood her ground against the enemy...one woman against a squadron.

Charlie couldn't take his eyes off of her, yet he couldn't speak either. The power and beauty displayed by Nellie had silenced the bully and left him with here-to-fore unexpected realizations. However, he needed to salvage something from the debacle, so he returned to plan 'A'.

'Go get footage of Ryan,' he said over his shoulder, 'unless she has an army in those jeans there's still only one of her.'

But instead of one of the Croparazzi's voices, the growl that responded was decidedly not 'friendly',

'You're a big man, when its seven against one. You want me, Booth…I'm right here.'

Charlie rolled his eyes and whispered, 'Shit.'

Putting his back to Nellie, he turned to face the enraged Blake Ryan.

(Author's Note: I know I sound like a broken record, but I am honestly blown away but the wonderful reviews…so again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I hope the 'pseudo mash-up' above wasn' t too confusing. I wanted a 'duet' and this was as close as I could get, narratively speaking. Songs: You spin me right round by Dead or Alive and Titanium by David Guetta. Finally, I've had several people ask about 'Penelope' and as far as I know Nellie Veitenheimer's real name is not Penelope. I just made it 'Penelope' because…well…you'll see ;) )


	21. Drawing Fire Scene 21

A wall separated him from Nellie, a wall of teenage evil and tarnished morals. Somehow he had to shatter the circle surrounding her long enough for her to escape. To do that, he would have to pull the Croparazzi away, capture their attention, and force them to focus on him. Blake needed to elevate the situation to a threat level that demanded his adversaries' undivided attention…no matter the cost.

'Time to start the show,' he thought.

Blake needed to play the role of aggressor, if he was to see Nellie free, and to do that, Charlie needed to fear him…and fear him he would. Reaching over his head, Blake grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, displaying the scrapes on his back and shoulders that he had acquired squeezing through his truck's back window but, more importantly, he revealed to the Croparazzi the chiseled muscles beneath those fresh wounds. Like a gladiator freeing his sword from its scabbard, the action challenged the horde he faced, and hopefully drew more of their attention away from Nellie.

Seven in all, they had a definite tactical superiority, but what Blake was counting on was that the Croparazzi's commitment to the current scenario did not rise to the same level of fanaticism as their leader's. They might 'fear' Charlie; hell, they might even 'like' him, but were they ready, willing, and able to take the proverbial 'bullet' for him…were they willing to get in Blake's way. Under no conceivable scenario would he back down, regardless of how vastly outnumbered he was, so it would take a presentation of the obvious to the Croparazzi, one that conveyed exactly what would happen to those that stood between him and Charlie.

Blake's wet t-shirt slapped against Charlie's chest, the gauntlet cast.

'How do you think this is going to go, Ryan?' Charlie stated simply, as he plucked free the wet garment and dropped it to the ground, 'You come at me, we kick your ass, and I tell Figgins that you are a 'dangerous element' in the McKinley community. What do you think happens then?'

Despite the power of the rainstorm, Blake never blinked, never broke his stare with Charlie, and in answer to his question, he simply shrugged, 'I'm not really thinking about what 'will' happen, but I do have some thoughts on the present.'

Charlie rolled his eyes again, 'Please do enlighten us. I mean I can't think of a better way to weather a thunderstorm than listening to some idiot wax philosophic. So please, before I change my status to 'Bored-to-death', let me hear your observations.'

Blake smiled, 'You've never had your ass kicked, have you Charlie?'

'Threats!?', Charlie laughed, 'Here I actually thought you might come up with something clever.'

'I'll take that as a 'no',' Blake continued, his cold grin still worn, 'The way I figure it, with the way you act, the only possible conclusion is that somehow: maybe hiding behind this group, money, or your family, you avoided getting the ass-beating that might have straightened you out. A black-eye or a busted lip delivered a few years back might've made you think twice before humiliating someone.'

'Are you going to kick all of our asses, Blake?', Charlie stated smugly.

'No,' Ryan shot his words at Booth like an archer, 'just yours.'

The largest of the hooded Croparazzi stepped forward between the two and barked at Blake, 'You want to throw down, pretty boy!? Why that's just my kind of fun.'

Lowering his own hood, TD sneered at Blake and rolled his shoulders, readying for combat, but Ryan ignored the brute, looking just over the fiend's shoulder to the spot his bulk had recently occupied. With TD's advance, the Croparazzi's circle had been broken, and for the first time since their meeting yesterday, Blake saw Nellie.

Charlie Booth, the Croparazzi, the storm, all disappeared, and all that remained was the girl. From behind the others, Nellie met his gaze with the same anxious hope that had intoxicated him the day prior, but there was something more to it now. A longing, normally found in the eyes of someone too long on the journey and too removed from the destination, met his, and there while the thunder raged and his enemies swarmed, Blake Ryan knew that he hadn't fooled himself. He and the girl were cast from the same mold; both looking for the same thing…hope.

And they had found each other, and Blake would be damned, if he let some high-school caesar take her from him.

With a speed that surprised the gathering, Blake sprinted at TD, but instead of tackling him, like everyone expected, he pivoted away from the giant, shot between the grabbing hands of the other Croparazzi, and rushed toward Nellie. However, instead of stopping at her side, Ryan flashed passed Nellie and leveled the cloaked figure behind her.

As the Croparazzi went flying, Blake turned, held out his hand and screamed, 'Come on!'

Nellie leapt through the hole he had made and grabbed his hand. With the touch, their first, a lifetime of emotions passed between them, and before either knew it, tears bled from their eyes.

But the future was not now, and for any chance to experience the other, they had to escape the 'here and now'.

'RUN!', Nellie screamed, and together they sped away, running parallel to McKinley. But like the animals they were, the Croparazzi gave chase.

Hand-in-hand they ran, hoping against hope to make it to the main entrance and the safety of the front office just beyond it. Reinvigorated by the tense scene, the lightning crackled with a clearer sense of purpose, bringing the medieval to their flight. Like characters victimized by the Brothers Grimm, Nellie and Blake rushed to outrun the big bad wolves, nipping at their heels, but the pack was closing the gap.

Chancing a glance behind them, Blake's breath caught in his throat, when he saw just how close TD was to catching them. Barely over an arm's length away, the hulk would grab one of them any second, and then the rest of the Croparazzi would be on them with the next flash of lightning.

Looking over at Nellie, Blake screamed, 'Go on ahead! Go on ahead!'

She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Blake let go of her hand, spun, and launched himself at TD. With barbaric roars emanating from each of their throats, the two large boys crashed together and created a peel of thunder every bit as powerful as anything brewed by Mother Nature.

Nellie ran a few more steps before she too turned.

TD and Blake fought like two titans, rolling and squeezing each other in an effort to gain advantage, but, too quickly, the rest of the Croparazzi, Charlie in the lead, arrived on the scene. Several of his hooded henchmen grabbed Blake, pinning his arms to his side, and allowed TD the opening he needed to land a vicious punch to Ryan's stomach. Enraged by the cheap-shot, Blake produced a primal scream, threw off one of the Croparazzi and landed a brutal strike to TD's jaw. However, the victory was fleeting, and Blake quickly found himself overwhelmed by their numbers.

Charlie looked from Blake to where Nellie stood and smiled, when he saw her ball her hands into fists.

'You still think you've got an army in your pocket, Penelope?' Charlie laughed at the girl, as she readied to charge.

But the cackle died in his throat a beat later, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

Just as Nellie started to run toward him, another figure, or figures rather, emerged from the darkness behind her.

Pushed by Blaine Anderson and Sam Evans, Artie Abrams rocketed passed Nellie, wearing both his old football helmet and a wild look in his glasses-free gaze.

'RAMMING SPEED!,' Artie bellowed, just before he struck the Croparazzi like a wrecking ball.

(Author's Note: Had a great question about the other members of the GP2, and 'yes' several of them will appear. Even though Charlie, Nellie, Blake and Michael will remain the principals, along with the existing cast members, I have very specific plans for the others ;) Again, thank you so much for the great words!)


	22. Drawing Fire Scene 22

With the charge of Artie Abrams and New Directions, the world drug on its axis and amber dipped the moment, slowing the scene for all the participants. Twin lightning strikes crawled slowly across the sky, illuminating the conflict below, where the two groups clashed in the time honored tradition of right versus might. In the battle between New Directions and the Croparazzi, countries and freedoms did not rest in the balance, but the stakes were no less dire.

Hooded figures flew away like professionally bowled pins, and for a moment, Artie thought that he might actually go straight through all seven. But that belief was short lived, when the next instant found him flying through the air; his chair overturned by one of the fallen Croparazzi. With time slowed as it was, Artie had what seemed like minutes to enjoy the sensation of soaring, and with his 'time', Abrams tucked one arm to his side and shot the other forward, in the iconic 'flight pose' of the Man of Steel. Free from his chair and gravity, Artie Abrams had become a super man.

Blaine and Sam pressed into the swarm of Croparazzi, trying to get to the fallen Blake without further escalating the conflict, but teenage tempers, like the heavens above, were wired white hot. Despite the slow motion of the battle, the two boys quickly found themselves back-to-back and surrounded by the Croparazzi. With the practiced ease of a boxer, Blaine Anderson raised his fists to defend himself, while Sam Evans peeked from beneath his long, wet bangs and smiled, inviting the hooded thugs forward.

For one beat of that frozen moment, the Croparazzi held the numbers and the advantage, but with the next, more figures spilled from the darkness. Rory Flanagan flanked by a lacrosse stick wielding, Sugar Motto rushed the right side of the enemy, while Joe Hart and Brittany Pierce appeared and charged the left. Eyes wide with adrenaline and, in most cases, fright, New Directions, as one, risked their own well being to help Blake and Nellie. They did not know the pair, but, with one glimpse, they didn't need to know them. Two people were being bullied, as they had been bullied for so long, and, that was all that needed to be known.

And so they charged, for Blake and Nellie, for themselves…for all those bullied everywhere.

As her own feet pounded in slow motion toward the Croparazzi, disbelief ghosted Nellie's features with the appearance of the show choir. True to his word, Artie had done it, he and New Directions had arrived and turned the tide. Her newborn courage mingled with a fresh confidence, leading her to hope that maybe, just maybe all was not lost.

The raindrops floated through the air like feathers, lingering, like everything else, with the slowed passage of time, and through the suspended droplets, Nellie's eyes picked out Blake, as he now fought against 'only' TD and Charlie; the rest of his attackers having moved to intercept Sam and Blaine.

After Artie's attack, bodies lay sprawled everywhere in various states of disarray, making a living minefield of arms, legs and fists, but to one that had spent two years weaving in and out of students, Nellie saw not the obstacles in her way but rather the 'path through the forrest'…the path to Blake. Stepping just behind a twirling Croparazzi, Nellie skipped left and then right, dancing between the enemy, and then with only one hooded figure rising from his hands-and-knees between her and Blake, she charged. Planting her foot on the small of the Croparazzi's back, Nellie leapt into the night and screamed.

With her war-cry, Time sped up and the world returned to normal; the lightning finished its strike, and the rain smashed into the ground…just as Nellie smashed into Charlie. Down they went in a heap, rolling over the flooded ground until, they came to rest…with Nellie lying on top of Charlie. Dazed, both of them fought to reorient themselves, and amidst their confusion, they ended up face-to-face; each barely an inch from the other. Neither said a word, but instead locked gazes. In Nellie's brown orbs, strength and defiance shone, while in Charlie's something foreign entered their composition, something seldom seen in his eyes, respect...respect and perhaps something more.

'ENOUGH!', came a shout strong enough to rise above the worsening storm.

Beneath their hoods, the Croparazzi turned to look in the direction of the command, and those that reacted fast enough saw William Schuester and Tina Cohen-Chang materialize from the darkness. Everyone, from both factions, backed away from each other, with some of the Croparazzi slinking deeper into the darkness back toward the student parking lot.

Lying on two of Charlie's hooded henchmen, Artie struggled to roll over and pressed his hands into the bodies of those beneath him in an effort to re-orient himself.

'Sorry, brother,' he smirked, but immediately retracted his hand when he felt something 'unexpected' beneath his gloves, 'I'm sorry, 'sister'.'

The hooded girl shrugged Artie off of her and disappeared into the shadows before Abrams could get a look at her face.

'What do you know,' Artie whispered with a smile,' I try to get into a fight and end up getting to 'second base'.'

Nearby, Blake lifted Nellie away from Charlie and together they stood side-by-side, watching as the ringmaster pulled himself to his feet. For a beat, the three stood staring at one another, marking the moment as the beginning of something…something that now started, would not quickly end.

From the ground Artie broke the moment, 'Get the hell out of here, Chuck. Whatever crap you were stirring up is over.'

Keeping his eyes on Nellie and Blake, Booth smiled, 'Seldom right and wrong again, Triple A, this has only just begun.'

Finally taking his eyes off of the pair, he looked down at Artie, 'I would've been content to let you and your little group ride off into the sunset, but now, now I know what I'll be doing this school year.'

Charlie looked up and in turn locked eyes with each member of New Directions, including Mr. Schue,

'Better hide those skeletons in your closets, songbirds, because, if not, I'll be playing knick-knack on them bones before you know it. See you online.'

The Croparazzi melted back into the shadows…their plans not completed but at least on hold, and Charlie Booth, too handsome to be as evil as he was, lingered a moment, sparing one last look for Blake and Nellie.

Blake stepped forward and unconsciously shielded the girl at his side, and in so doing received all of Charlie's attention.

Blake Ryan smiled at Charlie Booth and whispered, 'Soon.'

Charlie returned the smile and pretended to tip his hat, 'Indeed, Mr. Ryan...indeed.'

Promises exchanged, Charlie followed his demons back into the dark.

(Author's Note: In all likelihood the next scene will be posted on Monday, and next week will definitely see the end of this episode. Hopefully, I will be starting the next story in the series shortly after. I'm not real sure how to post the next episode: new story, continue this one, etc? If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear it! So please PM me! Once again, thank you for the wonderful feedback...you guys are the best.)


	23. Drawing Fire Scene 23

Will inhaled, readying a shout that would command Charlie and the Croparazzi to return from the shadows and face their punishment, but the calming hand of Tina Cohen-Chang touched his shoulder. Looking over at the co-captain of New Directions, he was met with a deliberate and sad shake of her head.

'Let them go, Mr. Shue,' Tina advised, 'Charlie's father keeps his boy covered in Teflon.'

A puzzled expression curled Will's lips, 'I don't care who his father is, Tina, look what happen here.'

'My dad's scared of Mr. Booth,' Sugar said as she moved closer, 'And he's rich.'

Unaware of the comparative insult, the eccentric Ms. Motto moved beside Tina and huddled against the senior, trying to get warm in the cold rain. Getting Artie back into his chair, Blaine, Sam, and the rest of New Directions gathered around their mentor, while Will stood staring into the darkness where the Croparazzi had retreated. Everything in him wanted to chase the group down and send them to Figgins for judgement, but maybe, maybe Tina was right. Getting involved to that extent was how he would've handled such an event before, opening him up to the children around him…setting himself up for the hurt, when they ultimately left him behind.

So Mr. Schuester, in an effort to change his ways, let Charlie and the Croparazzi go; despite every lesson of his thirty-plus years, shouting for action.

Taking the silence as an end to the heavier drama of the moment, Sam clapped his hands together and spoke around a massive smile, 'I'm sorry…but that was AWESOME!'

With Sam's confession, the rest of New Directions, save Mr. Schue, relaxed, and each of the members offered their own take on the last few moments.

'My heart is pounding,' Blaine said as he pressed his palm against his chest,'I mean really pounding, like 'opening night, first kiss' pounding.'

Sam clapped his hands again, 'I know! Mine is like a jack rabbit on meth, but in a good way.'

Blaine smiled at Sam, 'You know you're crazy right? Artie as a battering ram? How the hell did you even think of that?'

'He didn't think of it, he just remembered it,' Artie said, grinning ear-to-ear, 'I played football before you came to McKinley.'

'Fine,' Blaine said with a smile, 'you're 'both' crazy then.'

Sam's eyes shifted between Blaine and Artie, and then turned to take in everyone, 'Come on! That was awesome! Did you see Artie?! He flew!'

'You guys don't fight much, do you?' Rory said from his position beside Sugar.

Sam pretended to be offended, 'And you do, Mr. Flannagan?'

Now it was Rory's turn to look offended, 'Are you kidding…I'm Irish.'

His bare feet submerged in a rain-puddle, Joe seemed calm and content, 'I'm just glad it didn't get really bad. I have no desire to fight anyone.'

'I wanted to hit someone with my stick,' Sugar stated matter-of-factly.

'Um, guys,' Brittany said drawing everyone's attention, 'When did Finn start working out? I mean he's ripped, like Magic Mike ripped…do you think he did Fatkins?'

The rest of New Directions followed Brittany's gaze to its target, which wasn't Finn Hudson but rather Blake Ryan.

With the mention of Finn, even in error, Will felt the deep sense of loss resume its 'sit-in' on his chest, as he was again reminded of the boy's absence. In many ways, the reminder proved to further convince him that he had to maintain distance between himself and the students. He needed to keep himself safe from this type of hurt; he needed to find the materials to build a wall of indifference and professionalism. Regardless of his nature, Will had to change the way he viewed his students and limit his involvement in their lives outside of show choir.

Still removed from the group, Blake and Nellie stood staring at one another, not saying a word. Slowly the boy lifted his hand and offered it to the girl just has he had a day earlier.

'Blake Ryan,' his nerves clipped the words slightly, 'and you are Penelope, right?'

Nellie's breathing still rushed and her heart, like Blaine Anderson's, pounded a 'double-time' march in her chest. For a moment, she could do little more than look at Blake's outstretched hand, but her courage of the last few moments had not yet returned to the depths. So before her old instincts and warnings could try and sour the moment, she held her breath and took a leap of faith.

Her hand slid into Blake's, 'Penelope was my grandmother's name…I'm just Nellie, Nellie Baker.'

Blake released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, 'Nice to finally meet you, Nellie Baker.'

Again, her newborn courage acted as catalyst, throwing her into the deep-end of life, with the hope that she would stay afloat, 'I got your letter. Did you…?'

'Every word,' he said before she could finish the thought.

Looking into his eyes, Nellie whispered, 'Good.'

Several beats passed, and the rain fell over the pair, baptizing the union.

'We should probably get out of the storm,' Artie quietly spoke, wheeling up to the Nellie and Blake.

The rest of New Directions moved closer, nodding in greeting.

Finally looking away from Nellie, Blake met Artie's gaze, a look of regret in his eyes, 'I can't go to try-outs…I'm sorry, but I won't let whatever it is between me and Charlie involve the rest of you.'

'Puh-lease,' Artie laughed,' Chuck might not be a pushover but we've handled way worse.'

'Yeah, but you don't need to handle this. I can keep him off of you all,' Blake reasoned, 'I'll just stay away.'

Artie turned his eyes to Nellie, 'What do you think of Blake's plan?'

Nellie watched as all of members of New Directions turned to look at her, and with the ordinary act, tears started streaming down her face again.

Blaine stepped forward in concern, 'Are you okay? Did you get hurt?'

'No,' Nellie shook her head with a smile,'I'm just surprised, surprised and…happy.'

A smile appeared on Blaine's face, 'Why are you surprised?'

'You all can 'see' me,' Nellie confessed, 'It's…nice.'

Artie looked over his shoulder to where Will stood watching the exchange with interest, 'What do you think, Mr. Schue? Should we play it safe and let Blake and Nellie draw Charlie's fire, or should we stand with them?'

Mr. Schuester stepped forward to better regard the pair in question. For days he had been telling himself he needed to remain removed from the interpersonal affairs of New Directions, for his own emotional safety, but when he looked at Nellie and Blake, he saw two souls that needed his help. One seemed to be emerging from her shell, and the other seemed in need of direction; Will knew that he could help each on their way. But to do that he would have to lower his barely formed defenses.

Convincing Nellie and Blake to join New Directions could start a chain of events that would draw him back into the maelstrom that had left him so broken.

Ultimately, it came down to one simple question, 'What kind of teacher…what kind of man did he want to be?'

Did he have the strength to face that level of loss again?

Did he dare to love these kids with all his heart?

Before him, ten teenagers waited for him to make his decision, a decision that would shape the rest of their lives.

(Author's Note: Thanks to all for the great feedback! I've decided to continue with this plot line but make each 'episode' its own story, as suggested by GinnyBloomPotter. Each episode will be a continuation of the last but deal with a specific story-arc, just like Glee. When this story is over, I will launch the next episode titled 'Wishing Well'. A synopsis of the next episode will be tagged to the last post of this story. I'm having a blast! Thanks again to all of you for being the bee's knees!)


	24. Drawing Fire Scene 24

(30 minutes later, outside of a Starbucks)

The door of his Audi slammed closed, sealing Charlie off from the still raging storm. Mentally drained, the junior drifted around in his thoughts, while blowing on his Grande Quad Espresso Machiatto and watching the Starbuck's employees through the rivulets of rain running down his windshield. Taking a delicate sip of the nearly bubbling concoction, Booth let the warmth of the coffee work its magic and paused for the caffeine to sharpen his mind and coalesce his thoughts. Minutes passed, as he waited for the necessary focus to plan his next move. Finally, everything started to make some sense and the fog of failure cleared, if only slightly.

'Welp,' he said out loud, 'that went well.'

Not acquainted with failure, Charlie seldom, if ever, needed to review his plans to determine when, where or how everything went to pot, but like a prized steer roped and branded with a forehead 'L', he was forced into the painful art of self-assessment. The rest of the Croparazzi had performed their roles to the best of their abilities, so that left only one person to blame for the evening's debacle.

Grabbing his rearview mirror, Charlie turned the reflective surface on himself, and applied the literal translation of reflection to his doppelgänger.

'All for what?,' he questioned himself, 'A girl?'

As if the eyes he prodded weren't his own, Charlie glared in disgust.

'Pathetic,' he spat before he placed his coffee in the center console and started his car.

Determined to regain his hold on the shattered situation, Booth's mind whirled with stratagems and scenarios that would quickly and efficiently wipe the egg off of his face. Reaching up he readjusted his rearview mirror…and screamed in fright, when a pair of eyes, other than his own, calmly regarded him from the backseat.

A small bag of prescription pill bottles plopped down in his passengers' seat, but Charlie hardly noticed, as his shock was too profound to adequately process anything.

'I believe these belong to you, John Wilkes. Somehow they got in a Blake Ryan's locker...weird huh?,' Sue Sylvester calmly stated from the backseat.

'Coach Sylvester!? What the Hell!?', Charlie managed, when his vocal cords agreed to produce something other than a wail.

In the rearview mirror, Sue smiled, 'For what it's worth, I agree wholeheartedly. You are 'pathetic'. All that planning, planting the pill bottles in Ryan's locker and truck, trapping him there, and getting him kicked out of McKinley. You were looking at a perfect ten but you blew the dismount. For all of your pomp and circumstance, Jay Dubyah, you're just a clueless noob.'

As Coach Sylvester spoke, Charlie's wits finally returned, and his attention fell completely on the teacher's fact-for-fact account of his plan…well, most of it anyway. Needing to buy time to regroup, he looked into his mirror and lied.

'What the hell are you talking about, Coach? I'm getting some coffee, not driving an Oxi-bus up from Florida.'

Again Sue smiled, 'Buying some time, huh? C'mon, Grosse Point Booth, you can do better than an 'opening move'; lets fast forward to the good parts.'

'What do you want?', he questioned, still intent on employing his denial defense.

Sue's gaze turned deadly serious, 'You know, for all of your horrific shortcomings, you were right about one thing.'

'Yeah, and what was that?'

'I hadn't thought about who would, how did you put it, 'mind the store' while I'm on maternity leave, and that got me thinking. Seems like I will need some eyes in McKinley, eyes that see everything inside its walls, hidden and in plain sight. So…,' Sue drug out the last word and motioned for Charlie to continue.

Scrunching his face, Booth rustled up a confused, 'So…what?'

Sue rolled her eyes, 'Oh boy. Am I going to hav…'

In the mirror Charlie's eyes widened, and Sue smiled, 'There you got it, didn't you, John Wilkes.'

'You want 'me' to what…feed you information!? Report to you like some TMZ tipster!?,' Charlie demanded, his indignation the first truthful thing he had revealed in the conversation, 'Now Coach Sylvester, why would I do that? I mean, here we are alone, you a teacher, in my car after school hours, carrying, I don't know, a bag of drugs I guess, and accusing me of, what was it, 'planting pill bottles'. I'm not a lawyer but that seems like the type of lead-in that would make my dad's attorney weak with excitement.'

Sue nodded and her smile returned, 'Good you're finally snapping out of it and acting like you've got a pair. Guess I have to go through this next part or you'll keep trying to debate me…and we all know you're a 'master-debator'.'

The woman paused and scratched her head, 'Wait. No that's not right. You're not a 'master-debator', you're something else. Don't tell me, it'll come. Damn, pregnancy brain is making me so forge…'

She snapped her fingers, 'I got it! You're not a 'master-debator', you're a masterb…'

'Oh for god's sake, Coach Sylvester, get on with it!', Charlie pleaded from the front seat.

Again her smile cooled, and the calculated look of a true predator returned to her gaze, 'Very well, Cusack. First off, we are not alone.'

On cue, Becky Jackson popped up from behind the passenger seat, wielding a camcorder, headphones and a smile.

'Hi, douche bag!', the cheerio pleasantly crowed.

Flinching again, Charlie turned around and looked at the pair, 'Jesus, how many of you are back there?!'

'Just me and Becky,' Sue answered, 'Oh and your dignity was here a minute ago, but I guess it left.'

Sylvester looked at her prodigy, 'Get some good stuff.'

'Oscar worthy, Coach,' Becky answered and flashed the 'OK' symbol with her free hand, 'Except for when he screamed like a girl…that hurt my ears.'

Now looking directly into Charlie's eyes, Sue continued, again deadly serious, 'As for the 'bag of drugs', I'll e-mail you the jpeg of you handing the same 'bag of drugs' to Mr. Dawson, and Becky can forward you the video of TD putting it into Ryan's locker. Can't you Becky?'

'Yeah, Coach, I'll upload it to losers dot com,' the Cheerio joked and turned to Charlie, 'You're an Admin there right?'

'Christ,' Charlie swore, 'this is ridiculous. I don't care what you have, Coach Sylvester, do you know who my fa…'

'Here we go,' Sue interrupted, 'this is the part where you try to 'rest your case' with the 'daddy-card' right?'

Charlie shrugged arrogantly; confident his ace would play.

'Well,' Sue, the more seasoned villain, readied her retort,' your father might carry some weight here in the shallow-end of Ohio, but who do you think holds the ear of every major university in this great land of ours? You see, I'm a seven time National Champion with friends in every ivory tower imaginable; friends I intend to call, if you submit an application to one of their institutions. I'm an educator, John Wilkes, and it's my appointed duty to share your detestable nature with the world. Sure you're dad might be able to build some small college a building or something and, in turn, get you accepted, but how happy do you think that will make him? Plus, while he might be a Rockefeller in Lima, his greenbacks don't go quite as far when you leave the city limits, and last I looked, buildings are still pricey, even in a recession.'

The confidence bled from Charlie's eyes, leaving him very unsure of himself for the second time that day.

'Now, you get it, don't you?' Sue leaned forward until she was nose-to-nose with Charlie, 'You'll do exactly what I say, tell me everything you know, and maybe, just maybe you might be able to go to the college of your choosing. If you perform like the sleaze I know you to be, we'll get along just fine, but if you try to con me, well, your dad better look into the price of Chinese bricks.'

Stretching until her lips were millimeters from his ear, Sue hissed, 'You never should've threatened my Becky, Charlie. I'm feeling awfully maternal these days, awfully maternal, and that's not good news for you and yours.'

Mentally and physically exhausted, Booth slumped in his seat, defeated.

'What about the…what about that?', he nodded to the bag of pill bottles on his passenger seat.

'Oh those,' Sue laughed, 'you know as well as I do that if they had anything really bad in them, you'd be sitting in the police station right now, but Viagra and blood pressure meds? While the sheer quantity of bottles would've gotten Mr. Ryan ousted, you wouldn't have had any problem slithering away with your daddy's help. Me, I'd rather have your services than see you walk away scot-free, so to answer your question, Becky's video and my pics of the bag of drugs are for any and every admissions board at every college you try to attend…if you perform less than satisfactory, that is.'

Charlie turned back around and stared through his windshield and into Starbucks. Several beats drifted by, and he realized that he was too exposed; he needed time.

'Fine,' he agreed, in word if not in heart.

'Excellent,' Sue beamed, 'You'll report directly to my second-in-command, Becky Jackson.'

'Wait, what?' Charlie stammered, 'You can't be serious?'

'My dear, Johnny Dub-yah, you'll learn that despite my skillful wordplay, I'm always serious,' Sue whispered victoriously.

'Now,' concluded the manipulative Sylvester, 'take us back to McKinley. We were supposed to do this back there but damn if we didn't fall asleep. My energy is in the toilet these days.'

'The seats are so comfy,' Becky added.

'They are aren't they?' Sue agreed, 'Leave it to the Germans, huh? Oh no one tell my mom about me being in a Audi, okay?'

Charlie slumped further into his seat and sighed.

(Author's Note: One more scene to go! Thanks again to everyone!)


	25. Drawing Fire Scene 25

(The Auditorium)

Blue towels 'acquired' from the swim team's stockpile hung over the backs of the auditorium's chairs, along with some articles of clothing too saturated to be properly worn. With the stage illuminated by only two spotlights, darkness claimed the majority of the space. The sounds of preparation floated from the wings, as New Directions readied themselves for their first performance practice of the year, while Will Schuester sat alone in the theater, one of the blue towels draped over his shoulders.

When they had returned to the Auditorium from their encounter with Charlie Booth and his group, they hadn't found a horde of eager singers waiting for their chance to perform with the National Champs, nor did they have just a few brave souls waiting to try out. In fact, New Directions returned to an empty auditorium, with an empty 'sign-up' sheet.

Honestly, Will wasn't as surprised as he probably should have been. New Directions had never been something that people sought out, but rather a group that 'found' its members through serendipity. They would unearth new voices, probably where they least expected to find them; Will was sure of it. So, to salvage the night and put the adrenaline surging through them all to good use, he had called for a performance practice to begin the general preparation required of competitive choir.

And as for his own crossroads of conscience?

Will had stopped trying to shield himself from the cause of his depression but rather he wanted to identify the root, the 'why' behind his haunting sense of loss. Anticipating a prolonged self-exploration, Mr. Schuester was shocked when his answer had come so quickly.

Moments ago, when he had stood in the rain, looking at Nellie, Blake and the members of New Directions, Will had seen Finn, Rachel, Kurt, Santana, Puck, and Quinn staring back at him. However, the apparitions also sparked a comparative emotional response that he had suppressed for years, the feeling of intense loss he had experienced, when he learned that Terri had lied to him and he wasn't going to be a father.

And then, just like that, it had all made sense.

Will wasn't sure if he would ever be a biological parent. Though he desperately wanted children of his own, he and Emma would have to overcome her own hurdles to get to that point, but they would travel that path together, no matter the ultimate outcome. Regardless of his own paternal future, Will now knew that, at present, he saw all of these kids as his own children, and he wanted more time with them. He'd only had a few years with last year's graduates, and upon his realization in the rain outside of McKinley, he knew that his feeling of loss was prompted by his desire, albeit selfish, to have his 'kids' and to symbolically 'hold them close' a little while longer.

With his thoughts still narrating the scene, Will watched as New Directions began their first song of both the new school year…and the new era.

From the rear of the stage, the seldom seen but always heard band began the song with the powerful, deliberate strums of a guitar. The spots moved to the wings, one to the right the other split left, and upon reaching their destinations, illuminated Blaine Anderson and Artie Abrams, respectively.

Each boy sported damp clothes, a head that kept time with the band, and ear-to-ear grins. Suddenly the song shifted, and the band's full power exploded into the Auditorium, filling the space with the sounds of love and youth. As Blaine and Artie moved toward stage center, with the spots tracking their progress, Will's mind continued its deliberate assessment of his newly realized fatherhood.

Artie: confident, strong, a born leader, he was one of his 'kids' that really didn't 'need' him, yet the boy meant the world to Will. Artie's was a journey Mr. Schuester desperately wanted to watch, as he represented so much promise.

With his arrival, Blaine had brought an eternal sense of hope to New Directions, an inexhaustible drive that had powered the group through some of its toughest times. He too had great things in store, and Will wished only to see him become all that he knew he would.

Artie and Blaine met in the center of the stage, and as they came together, they faced Mr. Schuester and sang.

'_Take me to your best friend's house_

_Roll around this roundabout_

_Ohhhhh yeah!'_

Music, vocals and dance surrounded the pair, and they moved forward till they reached the stage's edge.

'_Take me to your best friend's house_

_I loved you then and I love you now_

_Ohhhhh yeah!'_

With the last line, Blake and Artie disappeared into the darkness, and the spots returned to the wings, where Rory and Tina awaited their moment.

However, from outside the cone of light, Blaine and Artie's voices continued to harmonize with the featured singers, lending their strength to the chorus.

Tina, along with Artie, had been with him from the beginning, yet Mr. Schuester felt that unlike her peer, his guidance might still be of some benefit to her, as her help, so recently displayed in the parking lot, would be a boon to him. Theirs was a relationship of symbiosis, with each a better person because of the other.

In many respects, Rory was your typical teenager, confused, unsure and awkward, but unlike so many of his contemporaries, the young Mr. Flannagan possessed a strong will and a steadfast loyalty. More than anything, Mr. Schue wanted to help him strengthen his weaknesses and showcase his strengths.

Rory skipped into a perfect Austin Powers-esque dance, which brought a huge smile to Tina's face just as they met in stage center for the chorus.

'_Don't take me tongue tied_

_Don't wave no goodbye_

_Don't…'_

Again Rory and Tina vanished and the spots moved to feature two new figures: Sam Evans and Sugar Motto.

Old beyond his years, Sam had been forced into an adult role and an adult world, when his father lost his job. He didn't need help to 'grow up', but Will still had something to teach. Schuester wanted to remind the 'man' in Sam about the 'teenager' he still was. Will wanted to help Sam live his youth for as long as he could and recapture a few of the months that he had sacrificed for his family.

Sugar…oh, Sugar. Will loved the eccentric girl, but she would definitely put his 'parenting' to the test. Thank God he had her for two more years, since he would in all likelihood need every available second.

Sugar and Sam met in the center of the stage, and together with the voices of Rory, Tina, Blaine and Artie, they sang.

'_Take me to your best friend's house_

_Marmalade we're making out_

_Ohhhhh yeah!'_

Sam and Sugar assumed a ballroom dance hold, and he twirled her to the edge of the stage, singing all the while.

'_Take me to your best friend's house_

_I loved you then and I love you now.'_

Each twirled away from the other and, as the singers before them, winked out into the darkness.

Brittany Pierce and Joe Hart materialized in the spots, and danced toward each other. Joe, his hair wrapped in a massive turban of blue towel and dreadlocks, spun expertly toward center stage, while Brittany the purest dancer on New Directions launched into a series of ballet pirouettes.

With the show of style and precision, Will clapped from the shadows and smiled.

These two, Joe and Brittany, were his special cases. His 'parenting' wouldn't be required to help these two unique individuals grow but rather to keep them from changing. Joe was a person of deep faith, so rare for one so young, and Brittany was perhaps the most innocent soul he had ever encountered. Together they had reached a place that few adults would ever achieve, and Will's mission would be to help them develop and reinforce their special standing.

Well, that and get Brittany to study more.

When the pair reached the center of the stage, they were met by the rest of New Directions, and together the whole choir harmonized, while standing in a line and holding hands or clasping shoulders.

''_Don't take me tongue tied_

_Don't wave no goodbye_

_Don't…'_

To Will's ear, they sounded so different than…than before. Gone were the classical additions of Rachel and the sheer power of Mercedes and Santana, but what they were missing wasn't what sparked Mr. Schuester's notice…it was what they had gained. The soulful sounds of Artie, Blaine, Sam and Tina were much more distinct, casting the entire mood of the choir into a more organic light.

It was beautiful.

Tears welled in Will's eyes as he watched his children sing…well, his 'oldest' children anyway.

On cue, Brittany stepped forward and lifted her hand in a countdown.

'_One, two, three, four.'_

With the last word, the veteran New Directions members disappeared, and their two rookies, Blake Ryan and Nellie Baker, debuted in the spotlights.

Locking eyes from across the stage, the star-joined couple exchanged lines as they advanced toward one another.

'_Don't leave me tongue tied,_' Nellie's powerful voice begged of the boy.

'_Let's stay up all night,'_ Blake sang with a smile.

Meeting at stage center, they held each other with twin gazes of equal amounts, tenderness and intensity. Nellie's left hand reached up and touched Blake's right, palm-to-palm; their fingers laced together.

'_My eyes on your eyes,'_ Nellie sang.

'_Like Peter Pan up in the sky,'_ Blake returned.

The rest of New Directions appeared and joined in the song's chorus, yet Blake and Nellie remained locked in their pose, singing only to the other.

'_Don't take me tongue tied_

_Don't wave no goodbye_

_Don't…'_

With Blake and Nellie, Will saw the reason behind his path in life. Like Quinn, Puck, Rachel, Santana, and Finn before them, these were the kinds of kids that made the pain worth feeling. The loss, while powerful, was nothing compared to the emptiness he would have experienced at having never known them.

No one knew what the future held. He might have children someday, or maybe he wouldn't, but Will Schuester knew what he had in the present, sons and daughters that needed him. They would have tough times, but if history was any indication, so too would there be joy. He couldn't stay locked up like some fairy tale prisoner, just to keep safe. Will had to take a chance, he had to open himself up to both the good and the bad that came with loving these kids.

Will Schuester needed to leave his foxhole.

And so he did.

As the last notes faded, he stood up and clapped, and all of his 'kids' turned to look at their 'father'.

'Good, guys,' Mr. Schue beamed, 'it's a 'nine' but we need a 'ten'.'

As he watched his 'family' nod in agreement, Will let the tears of joy and contentment fall from his eyes.

'From the top!'

(Author's Note: THIS ISN'T THE END! :) This has been an incredible process and the wonderful things you all have written will live with me forever. I'm not sure there are enough words to thank you all, so I'll simply say 'thank you, thank you, thank you'. Song: Tongue Tied by grouplove)

(NEXT EPISODE: Please join me for the continuation of this tale with my second episode entitled, Wishing Well. New Directions must look back to move forward, so Mr. Schue tasks the members with the assignment of 'living in the now'. Road trips, revelations and romance :) Hopefully, I'll see you there!)


	26. Drawing Fire Epilogue

Epilogue

(Hours Later in the middle of the night)

'Sometimes its hard to say a thing with enough passion to prove it genuine and its even harder still, tryin' to get your words across, when the person you're speakin' to isn't even in the same room.'

In the heavy stillness of the late night, Nellie's grandfather, Herbert Baker, sat on the edge of his bed and spoke to the framed picture of a young, beautiful woman with ebony hair, resting on his nightstand. Beside the first picture, there stood a second photo, which showed the same dark-haired beauty snuggled close to a handsome young man wearing a military uniform.

Herb reached his withered hand beneath his 'cheater' reading glasses and dabbed his damp, red eyes with a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Sparing a glance to the electrical outlet, he made sure that Nellie's 'secret' baby monitor was unplugged so his pondering wouldn't wake his beloved granddaughter.

His eyes dry enough to continue, Herb spoke again to the beautiful woman in the picture…with words that were not his.

'I guess the only way to truly talk to someone that isn't there is to speak with the same honesty you would use in their presence, so that's what I'm gonna do.'

Emotion took hold of Herb's control for a moment, and he again needed to wipe his eyes. However, this time when he continued, a thickness had settled over his ancient voice, threatening to choke him with the love he felt.

'When I saw you,' Herb's chin quivered, as he fought off the tears, 'I saw an angel, an angel come to help me from the dark. You are beautiful, but I didn't see your beauty. I saw…hope. Hope that I might get through this yet, and that all the despair and heartache I had been through was worth it…because it led me to you.'

Herb's right hand reached over, trembling with emotion and age, and touched the picture of the beautiful woman. His withered digits, more bone than flesh, touched the woman's ebony hair, and for a moment, the briefest of seconds, he felt not the glass of the picture frame, but the silken locks of Penelope Baker, his wife.

This time Herb had to remove his 'cheaters' and wipe the lenses before he could continue, but after the brief delay, the words of life and love resumed.

'I know it sounds crazy, like some poorly written TV show, but when I saw you, when I saw your eyes, I knew. I knew that you had traveled through the same storm that I had, and I knew that together we could get clear of the hurt and see the blue skies on the other side.'

Unfolding the last section of the paper in his hands, Herb continued reading the letter to his wife's picture.

'I'm not askin' for anything other than a chance to talk to you, to get to know you. For the first time in my life, my heart and my head are tellin' me the same thing; they're tellin' me that I've been sent a friend. A friend that needs me as much as I need them.'

Pushing up his cheaters one last time, Herb finished reading.

'If I don't see you at our lockers, I'll be in the auditorium after school for the show choir tryouts. Maybe we could go get some coffee or even something to eat. At my old school, they started the year with a bonfire, pep rally sorta event. Maybe if they have something like that we could go…or meet there…or anything. Talk to you soon, Blake Ryan.'

Herb pulled his cheaters off of his nose and looked at the picture of his wife.

'What do you think about that, Angel? Ain't never heard Nellie talk about no one before. No friends, no 'special someones', no nobody. I was so worried that she didn't have a soul to speak to or share with.'

Herb paused as if someone else was talking, and then answered the woman only he could hear.

'I'm not sellin' myself short, Angel, but I'm too damn far from that age to be much help in the affairs of youth,' he smiled, 'even though in about twenty years, I'll be a 'teenager' again. Just with a 'one' in front of it.'

With a practiced ease cultivated after decades spent working on engines, Herb refolded Blake's letter and placed it on the nightstand, so he could use both of his hands to scoot off of the bed. However, before he stood, he looked again at the picture of his wife, and then to the one beside it. His unwrinkled face and his Angel's smile stared back at him from the past, and Herb dared to give voice to his hope.

'You know, we weren't much older than Nellie, when we met, easier really to measure the span in months, if you think about it. Maybe all them years we waited for God to send us a child, maybe everything that happened, happened just like this Blake Ryan writes, so time would line up and their paths would cross.'

Again he waited, hearing a voice only he could answer.

Nodding he smiled, and a tear broke from his eye and rushed into his silver stubble.

'Yup, just like us.'

With more effort than he thought possible for such a mundane act, Herb slid out of bed and grabbed the cane propped up against his headboard. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he placed a kiss upon the tips and touched the glass just above his wife's lips.

'Goodnight, Angel…I'll see you soon.'

As silently as his creaking bones and popping joints would allow, Nellie's granddad returned to her room and crept inside. She was in the same position in which he had found her minutes ago, and her arm still hung off her bed and dangled a few inches from the hardwood. Herb took a firm hold of his cane and stooped low enough to return Blake's letter to the floor below Nellie's fingers, where he had found it.

Normally he never would've pried into her affairs, but something had told him to read that letter and Herb Baker had learned long ago that if Fate told you to 'read a letter' or 'peek out of a foxhole', you did it.

Shuffling back through the dark house, his silhouette may have looked like a shrunken old man, but his soul was still that of the brave soldier that had drawn fire all those decades ago. Before he vanished back into his room, his whisper travelled back up the hall.

'I 'knew' they still had bonfires.'

(Author's Note: This scene is for everyone that wanted to know about Blake's letter :) I was going to save it for later but I think it works as an Epilogue. I love you guys!)

(Story Note: Wishing Well has started, so please, if you enjoyed Drawing Fire, join me there!)


	27. Wishing Well Scene 1

**(Author's Note: I've been advised to continue the next episode within this thread to avoid confusion, so here we go!)**

Intro/Synopsis : New Directions must look back to move forward, so Mr. Schue tasks the members with the assignment of 'living in the now'. Road trips, revelations and romance! This story is the 2nd episode of an ongoing season that began with 'Drawing Fire' and follows the tales of the remaining Glee members and how Nellie, Blake, Michael and Charlie from the GP2 fit into the tale of McKinley High.

* * *

Traditionally September was recognized as the first full month of the school year. For many this constituted a tangible dislike for the thirty day timeframe and placed, with merit or not, a topical sense of dread with an underlying sense of loss in the hearts of students everywhere. Most focused on the apparent flaws of the month: a return to school, sacrificed independence, and the pressures of Academia, but those only touched upon the physical, the scheduling of time and the limitations of leisure. September's real power resided in its innate ability to distinctly showcase teenage evolution and the resulting reminders associated with such change.

It wasn't the loss of vacation's free time that was the month's real detraction, but rather September's ability, through warm Indian Summer's and crystal clear skies, to remind those trapped within school rooms that the world of the free and untethered existed just outside the crank windows through which they peered. The month taunted and mocked with images of perceived 'better days', not so long ago enjoyed, and for students, it offered enough similarities and reminders to past school years that the present was that much more different…with each alteration, no matter how minor, more profound.

September was the mirage of water to the lost and thirsty, cell keys resting just outside the bars of the imprisoned, and the ticket stub of a beloved concert, all rolled into one.

In short, September was both a thirty day hangover and a real son-of-a-bitch.

Since Figgins only allowed certain areas of McKinley to feel the cooling effects of conditioned air, the choir room lay choked beneath the stuffiness of stagnation and oppressive heat. On the floor in front of the piano, the ten members of New Directions went through the proverbial motions of their traditional Friday practice. With hair tied up in a feeble effort to cool necks and layers shed to the bare minimum accepted by the Lima Board of Education's Standards and Conduct Council, the students performed the same number that they had rehearsed last Tuesday evening, or the Night of the Rumble, as it was now affectionately known.

Mr. Schuester leaned against the piano, noting each blocking detail and vocal sequence that needed cleaning up, but after a few seconds, Will shelved that idea, as the performance as a whole needed refinement. As the song ended, he remained quiet and simply observed his students. Nearly all of the veterans went over to the chairs and grabbed their smartphones and proceeded to swipe and tap their screens in silence. In turn, they made verbal statements to no one in particular, each lost in their own long distance relationships.

'Mike just tweeted that its hot in Chicago but there's a nice breeze blowing off of the lake,' Tina offered loudly but then she lowered her voice and spoke, presumably, to herself, 'Sounds like a great day to just take a walk.'

'Mercedes texted me a picture of the Santa Monica Pier,' Sam said from behind his own phone.

Blaine looked up from his own phone for a second to glance at the pic, 'Oh, man, that looks like fun. Kurt never sends me pictures of anything in Washington, unless you count swatches for the curtains in his dad's new townhouse. See.'

Blaine held out his phone to Sam, with the latter glancing up from his texting only long enough to say, 'I like the one on the right.'

'So do I,' Anderson absently agreed and started a text of his own.

Brittany piped up, 'Santana sent me a pic t…'

The girl stopped dead, smiled at the screen of her phone, and looked over to Mr. Schue, 'Oh this one's just for me…never-mind.'

'Guys,' Will addressed the entire group but only those not hardwired to their electronics turned to look.

Leaving the piano, Mr. Schuester walked over until he was standing in front of four of his five seniors, 'Guys, could you put those down for a second?'

'Which one do you like, Mr. Schue?', Blaine said to the teacher and held up Kurt's picture of swatches.

Will's ear piercing whistle commanded and demanded the attention of each of the obsessed teens.

'Woah!', Sam said while cupping his ear.

Brittany rolled her eyes up from her phone and looked around the room, 'Was that the fire bell? Are they even allowed to pull those on Fridays?'

'Guys,' Will repeated, 'Put the phones away for a second.'

Reluctantly, the seniors acquiesced, and within a minute the entirety of New Directions had reconvened in the choir room's stadium chairs.

'The night we had the trouble with the Croparazzi,' Will began.

'The Night of the Rumble,' Sam corrected using his best pro-wrestler voice.

Mr. Schue smiled, 'Fine, the Night of the Rumble. After that when we rehearsed, it sounded amazing. Not only were you technically proficient, but you infused the performance with the powerful emotion I'm so used to hearing from you guys. However, in the few days since then, that 'feeling' in the song has been lost. Technically, you are still nailing it, but without the emotion, the song runs the risk of becoming robotic.

Moving over to the blackboard, Will grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote two phrases upon its surface, one at the top, the other at the bottom, with an 'or' separating them in the middle.

'Laudatores temporis acti,' Will pointed to the top phrase, and then moved his pointer of chalk to the second, 'Carpe Diem.'

'Does anyone know what this means?', the teacher asked.

'Carpe Diem,' Artie answered, 'It means 'seize the day'…Oh Captain my Captain.'

'That's right. Carpe Diem is one of Latin's most quoted sayings, and, as Artie explained, it means to live each day to the fullest,' Will smiled but tapped the upper phrase with his chalk, 'But what about this one?'

Silence claimed the choir room, as the students waited for someone else to venture a guess.

'Praisers of time past,' a voice said from the back row.

As one, New Directions turned in shock to regard the student that had given the answer, Brittany Pierce.

'I thought it was some kind of sushi,' with a look of pure innocence, she lifted her phone from behind her pom-pom, 'So I Googled it.'

'Brittany,' Will chastised the girl, 'I said to put those away.'

Her face fell, 'Wait…you were serious about that, Mr. Schue?'

Walking over, Will held his hand open to Brittany, who begrudgingly filled it with her phone.

'Just don't look at my new wallpaper,' she warned.

Heeding her advice, Mr. Schuester placed the smartphone on the piano's top and continued.

'I am shocked to say but Goggle is right; this does indeed mean 'praisers of time past'. Anyone want to 'layman-ize' this for us?'

'You mean, like, a person that lives in the past and, I don't know, always says 'remember when', Blake Ryan ventured from the front row.

Pointing the chalk at the junior, Mr Schuester answered excitedly, 'Exactly! Some people get stuck in the past and fail to see the present as a gift and the future as something wholly unwritten. They never experience new adventures or glories because they are mired in events long gone.'

Tina tilted her head, 'I know where you're going with this, Mr. Schue, but I hardly think that we should be labeled 'Praisers of times past'. We have girlfriends and boyfriends that aren't here anymore, its different.'

'Is it?' Will questioned his co-captain, 'Look at the messages you all just received.'

Mr. Schuester pointed his chalk at Tina, 'Mike is enjoying Chicago, enough to tweet about the day's weather.'

His chalk left Tina, pointed to the lower Latin phrase, and started tapping, 'Mike Chang…Carpe Diem.'

In turn, Sam became the target of Mr. Schuester's chalk, 'Mercedes is out at the Santa Monica Pier,' again he pointed at the board, 'Carpe Diem.'

Moving to Blaine, Will repeated the process, 'Kurt's out doing what he loves…Carpe Diem.'

Finally, his chalk landed on Brittany, 'And I don't think a day has passed in the last eighteen years that Santana hasn't seized.'

'So, what,' Blaine asked, 'Are you asking us to forget about our significant others and have our own fun? Because, with all do respect, Mr. Schue, there's no way in hel…'

'That's not what I'm saying, Blaine,' Will interrupted, 'But you all need to find a way to be more like Mike, Mercedes, Santana, and Kurt. Love those you love, but don't forget to love yourselves as well.'

'I don't think the church likes that,' Brittany stated.

At the mention of 'church', Joe Hart's eyes widened, and he shot his hand skyward.

Will nodded to the polite young man, 'Yes, Joe, please tell me you have something to add.'

Joe stood up, barely able to contain the excitement coursing through him, turned to the others, clapped his hands and shouted, 'A revival!'

Nine blank stares met Joe's…ten if you counted Mr. Schuester's.

Not understanding their silence, Joe continued, 'We can have a revival up at the Wishing Well! Tomorrow! Carpe Diem!'

Again the students simply stared, but this time Will scrunched his eyes and tried to connect the dots.

'Joe, you don't mean an 'evangelical' revival do you?'

'No, Mr. Schue,' Joe shook his head and fanned a few of his dreadlocks across his shoulders, 'I mean, my youth group used to have religious revivals at the Well, but what I'm suggesting is more…spiritual. There's a perfect spot for a picnic, swimming…we could even make a bonfire!'

Nellie's eyes widened, and Blake quickly added, 'I'm in!'

Seeing Ryan's excitement but misinterpreting its origin, Joe's soapbox sell rose to a fever pitch, and he went in for the proverbial kill.

'And the best part,' Joe paused for effect, 'No cell-phone reception!'

'Forget it,' Tina quickly shot out.

'No way,' Sam and Brittany said simultaneously.

'I don' think…', Blaine spoke with and over the others.

'Hold on a second,' Mr. Schuester called for quiet, 'How many of you have ever been to Joe's Wishing Well?'

Again the members of New Directions looked at one another.

'I haven't been to the moon either, Mr. Schue,' Tina added.

Will smiled, 'But if given the chance, you'd go…right, Tina?'

The senior girl stared at her teacher in silence.

Mr. Schue again tapped the lower Latin phrase, 'Carpe Diem.'

'Here's this weekend's assignment, go to Joe's Wishing Well, and rediscover yourselves,' Will continued, 'Live your lives and find passion in the here-and-now. Bring the feeling back to your voices, and maybe, just maybe you'll learn that the present has just as much to offer as the past.'

Again Mr. Schuester tapped first the top Latin phrase, Laudatores temporis acti, and then tapped the second, Carpe Diem. Locking gazes with each of the effected seniors, Will finished.

'Which one are you?'

(Author's Note: Again, I want you all to know how much your comments and reviews have meant to me. This has been one of the most rewarding exercises of my life. I hope this next story doesn't disappoint :) )


	28. Wishing Well Scene 2

(Moments later)

The student parking lot baked in the heat of mid-afternoon, but despite the oppressive and unrelenting sun scorching the sky and bouncing off the asphalt, the area seemed decidedly less sinister than it had the last time the four had gathered there. No hooded Croparazzi ringed their troupe like the Apocalypse's unmounted minions, and no plain dealing villains like Charlie Booth strutted and spat against the backdrop of lightning and rage. Nope, just a simple space, a place far removed from the exciting arena it had been that night. Yet, despite the boredom that had regained its dominance over the parking lot, New Directions again found themselves in the same spot, faced with another weighty decision. The first had been to stand with Nellie and Blake against the Croparazzi, upon which they had all unanimously agreed. However, this latest motion, proposed by Joe Hart, met not only with speculation but also debate, as the leadership of New Directions seemed unsure about what path to take…or whether any path needed taken.

Four of the five seniors of New Directions huddled in the limited shade afforded by the bulk of William McKinley High, to discuss the course of their beloved show choir. Absent due to the responsibilities required of the captain of the Cheerios, Brittany Pierce represented the only missing member of the defacto leadership council.

'So?,' Blaine started the unofficial meeting with a one word question.

'So?', Sam echoed and looked over at co-captains, Tina and Artie.

'So, what?' Cohen-Chang responded, 'You guys aren't actually thinking about doing this 'revival' thing are you?'

The three boys looked at each other, but none of them responded.

Tina rolled her eyes, 'Please tell me you guys are joking. You are joking right?'

With a half turn of his chair, Artie pulled himself into the center of their loose circle, 'At first I wasn't so sure I liked the religious connotations of this little exercise, but the more I think about it, the more I see the similarities.'

'What are we all going to start dressing in snuggies?' Tina said sarcastically, 'If that's the case, I'll stop by the store and pick up some Kool-Aid.'

'No, I see where Artie's coming from,' Blaine added, 'We need to inject our performances with more…I don't know if 'faith' is the right word, maybe 'passion', regardless, we need to do something now or we'll never go anywhere this year.'

'That will come,' Tina didn't dispute either boys observations but instead saw their current 'robotic' state as part of the learning curve, 'We need time to mesh as a group, that's all. I mean we've only been practicing for a week!'

The four leaders sat in silence, quietly weighing each other to see just how much Tina's words were to be believed.

'No one wants to say it,' Sam finally broke the quiet, 'So I will.'

Pulling himself off of wall where he leaned, the handsome boy took his spot in the center of the circle, 'They're gone and they're not coming back.'

Not needing an explanation as to who 'they' were, Tina snapped in a rush, 'We know they aren't coming back, Sam.'

'Do we?', he shot right back, 'Because when we sing, it's like we are all waiting for Rachel's voice to take the point. I find myself doing the basic choreography because I keep thinking that Mike will add something amazing to his dance sequence, so why bother, and at the end of every song, I almost stop to listen for Mercedes 'big note'. Santana's strength, Finn's leadership and Puck's growl, none of that is coming back, yet we are singing as if they're right there beside us in the choir room. Hell, I'll be honest; sometimes I actually 'hear' those guys, its eerie.'

The other three stared at him, not agreeing vocally, but their eyes and hearts seemed to tell a different tale.

'But do you know who won't hear their voices?' Sam fired off another rhetorical question, 'The judges of every competition we attend. They'll only hear us, and right now, we aren't National Champions…we're just, I don't know, 'reflections and shadows' I guess.'

'And you think a trip to some muddy pond up in the mountains is going to change that?' Tina asked.

'I don't know,' Sam honestly answered, 'But I do think we've got to start trying different things because everything we did with Rachel, Santana, Finn, Mike, Mercedes, and Puck isn't going to work. We sound different but different isn't bad. We're just a changed group now. We just need to…I don't know, help me out here, Blaine.'

'No, Sam's right,' the former Warbler concurred, 'Our entire tone has shifted but we are approaching our songs like we still have six very different voices with us. We need to completely rebuild how we structure our songs to showcase the strengths we have and not the strengths we had.'

'I'll say this again,' Tina asked, her sarcasm gone, replaced by genuine curiosity, 'Do we really think that going up into the hills like Julie Andrews is going to help us accomplish this?'

'Who knows,' Artie offered, 'maybe Joe's revival is the jump start we need, maybe not, but at the very least, we can get to know each other again, as individuals and not part of some whole.'

Artie's eyes blazed with the thought of competition,' I'm not willing to roll over and let some other group take our title, so if it takes a visit to Joe's Wishing Well to get us righted, than, by God, point me toward the mountaintop. I smell a Rocky montage.'

'A what?,' Blaine half laughed the question.

'A Rocky montage,' Artie repeated,' All of us training, running up a mountain, pumping our fists in the air.'

'Montage,' Blaine said with a slight grin.

'Oh hell yes,' Artie confirmed.

A few beats passed, until finally the lone skeptic began to cave.

'You guys know I absolutely hate being in…' Tina shuddered, 'Nature.'

Artie laughed, 'How do you think I feel? I'll be going off-road, and that, my friends, is a bitch.'

'Oh my God, Artie, I didn't even think about that, how ar…', Blaine started.

'Don't worry,' Abrams winked, 'I've got it covered.'

'So we're doing this?' Tina sighed.

The three boys looked at each other and then nodded.

'We owe it to ourselves and to Nellie and Blake, for that matter. They didn't make the run with us to Nationals last year...they don't know what its like to win the whole damn thing. I'm with Artie. It's not really a choice...we 'have' to do this,' Sam finished.

Tina leveled a cool stare on each of the boys before she ultimately said, 'So help me, if I get one bug bite,' she shot her finger up in emphasis, 'ONE! I am going to make your lives a living hell.'

Artie raised his gloved hand, 'Excuse me, but how would that be any different than right now?'

A smile stretched across Tina's face, 'Oh, sweetie, you ain't seen nothing yet.'

The group starting laughing, albeit a bit cautiously on Artie's part.

'I'll call Joe and we will set everything up,' Sam said, 'When we've worked out the particulars, I'll text you guys.'

All three boys looked at each other, smiled and simultaneously said,

'Montage!'

Tina rolled her eyes.


	29. Wishing Well Scene 3

(10 minutes later)

'I shouldn't be sitting with you…alone like this,' Michael shifted nervously in the passenger seat of Blaine's car and readjusted the air-conditioning vent for the tenth time, 'People might see us.'

'So what if they do,' Blaine demanded, 'It's over a hundred degrees outside. Anyone that looks will think we are just…I don't know, 'getting out of the heat'.'

With an incredulous roll of his eyes, Michael's faced scrunched into a smirk, 'Seriously. You've got a boyfriend all the way in Washington and I'm single; people will see this as more than two guys getting out of the heat.'

Blaine shifted in his seat so he faced Michael, 'Well, since we're on the subject, what are we then?'

The senior's hands gestured to this space between them, 'What are we calling…'this'?'

Michael sighed, ignoring the direct question and deflected to another topic, 'Why am I here, Blaine? What's going on? I thought I made it clear last spring that I really wasn't interested in a relationship.'

'Yeah about what you said…I don't believe you,' Blaine answered plainly.

Michael snorted, 'I don't care, if you believe me or not, I am saying that I don't want to see you.'

Hurt and sadness ghosted across Blaine's handsome features, enough so that Michael added some clarification to his brash statement.

'Listen, Blaine,' Michael's tone had softened somewhat, 'I don't hate you or anything. I just…I just don't think I can handle the 'societal expectations' associated with having a public relationship with you.'

'Oh, my, God,' Blaine half-barked, half-laughed in disbelief, 'Did you just pull the 'homophobe card'?'

Back-peddling, Michael quickly moved to better define his statement, 'No, no, no! Jesus, Blaine, I'm not some closed minded bigot! I meant that, if we had an open relationship, I'd be…I don't know how to say this without sounding like an asshat so I'll just say it…I'd be 'Lando Calrissian' to your 'Han Solo'.'

Confusion replaced the hurt on Blaine's face, prompting his next question, 'You're saying…wait, what are you saying? That McKinley would look at us like two characters from Star Wars?'

'Lando didn't appear until Empire, but that's beside the point,' Michael continued in a rush, 'What I mean is you'd be the 'cool one', the singer, the National Champion, the…the 'senior' for God's sake, and I'd be 'the-guy-that-does-the-same-things-only-not-as-well'. Everyone would compare me to you and ultimately discover I'm just a pale imitation.'

Blaine reached across and put his hand over Michael's, 'Don't ever think that…ever. When you moved back last spring, all I wanted to do was introduce you to all of my friends and show you off. Not because of our relationship but because of the type of person you are. You're funny, smart, and a hell of a singer; I mean, you could use some fashion tips, but that's neither here-nor-there.'

With the last part, Blaine allowed a grin to slip across his face, letting Michael know that he was indeed kidding…mostly.

Michael sighed and politely pulled his hand from under Blaine's, 'I need to make it on my own. Correction, I'm 'making it' on my own. If we start hanging out, it'll put me in an awkward spot, and next year when you're gone, I'll be left with a label. I just, I just can't have that.'

'I'm going to ask this one time,' Blaine's gaze lowered, 'Is it because I'm out?'

'Jesus!', Michael swore, 'I really am coming off like a prick aren't I?'

'You seemed awful worried about us being seen in the car together, so now I need to know, is it because I'm openly gay?' Blaine brought his eyes to Michael's and repeated his question.

Michael waited a beat before continuing, 'Sort of, but not in the way you think.'

'What other way is there?' Blaine demanded his eyes narrowing defensively.

'Okay,' Michael sighed trying to get his bearings so as not to cause further miscommunication, 'Let's say we hang out. Let's say you talk me into show choir. Let's say we perform together, sing and dance, just like we used to do. Everyone starts to tell us how much we look alike…just like they used to do. McKinley starts to see us as the same person, just like everyone used to do. How long do you think it will take until I'm 'you'?'

'Just because we look alike doesn't mean everyone would think we are the same person,' Blaine stated with as much confidence as he could muster.

Michael smirked, 'You know that's not true. I'd be everything you are in a matter of weeks, maybe days, and while I could care less if people think I'm gay, the reality is I'm not. You're gay so I would be 'gay' too…in the eyes of McKinley anyway. Someday I'd like to find a girlfriend, someone to spend my time with, someone to love, just like you found Kurt. If everyone thinks I'm gay that makes my job twice as hard, and as this conversation proves, I have a tough time getting my thoughts and feelings across. I'm a nerd, and I've accepted that, but what I can't accept are labels and lies. I'm…I'm just not 'cool' enough to fight through a gauntlet of rumor-mongers and Internet accusations.'

'I think your view might be a little fatalistic, don't you?' Blaine responded.

'So I don't put my foot in my mouth again this next part isn't supposed to be disrespectful, but I think your view is a little naive,' Michael jerked his head toward the building over his shoulder,'Look around McKinley, Blaine. The students aren't ruled by their own reasoning and experiences, they're 'told' what the truth is. They hear that someone is a slut on Facebook, and that girl goes through high school as a 'slut', even though, in reality, she's never so much as played spin-the-bottle. Reality isn't 'lived', it's 'created' by others, and when the last straw is pulled, you are either on the winning team…or you're the 'slut' that's never been kissed. As for me, I'd rather be in a position where I'm calling the shots and giving myself an advantage for when I finally meet someone.'

'You are starting to sound like that idiot that runs the Croparazzi, Charlie Booth. You don't know him do you?', Blaine's eyes peered into Michael's.

Forcibly keeping his gaze steady, Michael lied, 'No, but I've heard of him, which just proves my point. If we hang out and do the same things, a group like the Croparazzi will tell a much different story than the truth because the truth would be too boring. I'd be 'out and proud' in a week, and I don't have enough game to talk to a girl, let alone explain that I'm not gay 'before' I talk to her.'

While the fan of the car's air conditioning provided the only sound, the boys stared at one another, in many ways the mirror images Michael so feared they would become…again.

'I tell you what,' Blaine's voice finally usurped the air conditioning for auditory dominance of the space, 'We are all going up to the mountains tomorrow, just the members of New Directions. We will be hanging out, playing music, swimming, singing, and just enjoying the weather and the company…why don't you come with me?'

'I thought I just told you that…', Michael started.

'I know, I know,' Blaine raised his hands in surrender, 'But there won't be anyone else from school, just us. You could hang out and keep your precious reputation intact. You might even have fun.'

Michael rolled his eyes, 'I don't have a 'precious reputation', Blaine; I don't have 'any' reputation. I just don't want to end up with a false reputation that I'm too awkward to get out from underneath.'

'No, I get it,' Blaine smiled genuinely, 'And what you say makes sense. I guess I've just gotten used to the Hummel way of doing things: being yourself and to hell with the haters.'

Michael's head dropped, 'Man, I wish I could be like that, but I…I'm just not as strong as you two.'

'No, you're stronger…you just don't know it yet,' again Blaine put his hand over Michael's, 'At least think about coming with us. I'll text you the details as soon as I hear from the others.'

The senior's hand squeezed the sophomore's, and Blaine whispered, 'I love you, Michael, and I always will, so as much as I might be annoying you, I'll always be here for you…always.'

'Man, I love you too,' Michael smiled, 'Hell, when we were growing up, you 'were' Han Solo to me, and you still are. I'm just the idiot that's too worried about being picked on to…to…to act more like you and your boy, Kurt.'

Blaine nodded, his eyes glistening, 'Think about going with us, okay?'

'No promises,' Michael placed his hand on the passenger door's latch, 'I'm sure Mom has a metric 's' ton of stuff for me to do this weekend.'

'Tell Aunt Cathy I said 'hi',' Blaine smiled, 'And tell her that if she lets you come with us tomorrow, I'll come over on Sunday and help you do whatever needs doing.'

Michael rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car, 'You always were a 'kiss up'…guess that's why you're her favorite nephew.'

'Take care,' Blaine's face grew solemn, 'And call me if you need me.'

'Will do,' Michael said and slammed the door.

Moving back toward McKinley, Michael watched as Blaine backed up and then drove out of the student parking lot.

Moments later, Charlie Booth emerged from his car and joined him.

'So,' the leader of the Croparazzi purred, 'How's your cousin?'


	30. Wishing Well Scene 4

'_How's your cousin?'_

Laughing at the manufactured civility, Michael rolled his eyes over to Charlie, 'Do you really care?'

'Not really,' Booth confessed, 'But my momma always said 'you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar'.'

The younger boy stared skeptically at the older boy's profile.

'Your mom didn't say that did she?' Michael started laughing, having already divined the answer.

Charlie started chuckling too, 'Nope. She's not a real font of motherly sayings, but if you ever need a drink recipe, she's your girl.'

Michael's mirth evaporated and for a minute he just stared at Charlie, realizing that for perhaps the first time, Booth had produced an honest, genuine statement. Though sunglasses hid the junior's eyes, Michael saw the skin scrunch around the outside of the lenses, as if the eyes beneath them had pinched closed in a decidedly emotional response.

Without thinking, Liston raised his hand to put it on Booth's shoulder, 'I didn't mea…'

Shifting away from Michael's touch, the leader of the Croparazzi redirected the conversation, 'Well, well, what did Mr. Anderson have to say?'

His hand hovered over Charlie's shoulder for a second, before he abandoned his attempts at comfort and lowered his arm to his side.

'Nothing,' Michael said absently, 'Blaine just wanted me to go with him tomorrow on some sort of 'field trip' New Directions is taking.'

'And what did you tell your cousin?' Charlie's mirrored sunglasses faced the exit of the parking lot, lingering on the spot where Blaine's car had left his sight.

'I told him I wasn't interested, but he said he was going to text me the details anyway,' Michael responded truthfully.

'Oh you're interested,' Charlie smiled still staring off toward the long gone Blaine, 'You're very, very interested.'

Michael looked over at his 'boss' and mustered up enough courage to complain, 'Come on, Charlie, we were going to play Mass Effect this weekend.'

'And now I will be flying solo in my man-cave, while you're going on a real life adventure with your dashing older cousin. If you ask me, I think you got the shit-less end of the stick, Mikey,' Charlie slapped him on the back and flashed his malicious grin, 'Oh, be sure and take your camera, I want to see plenty of pictures when you get back...a few candids of Ms. Baker would be particularly pleasant.'

Charlie drifted off in thought for a moment before he continued, 'By the way where are we on her 'pictorial'?'

Michael shrugged absently, 'I've pulled all the pics from everyone's phones and cameras, wiped the hardware clean, and backed everything up on a zip. I was going to finish enhancing them this weekend, but that was before you had me going on some damn picnic.'

The junior smiled, 'This takes precedence, Mikey. Pictures like the ones you have the opportunity to take could prove invaluable in the future.'

Michael hesitated; his sense of self-preservation torn between the powerful Charlie Booth and his familial loyalty to Blaine Anderson. Recognizing his protege's conflict, the manipulative junior addressed the source of the pause.

'You're thinking that if those pictures appear online, your cousin will know you took them, right?'

Michael nodded, 'That's right.'

'Yet, you want nothing to do with Blaine,' Charlie countered.

'That's…that's not it. Listen, I have my reasons and you know most of them,' the sophomore barked.

'Well,' Charlie's delivery seemed akin to a that of a politician, or a cult leader, 'Why not think of this as a chance to finally make a decision about your cousin? A poop-or-get-off-the-pot type moment.'

'What do you mean?,' Michael's eyes narrowed.

Booth turned, removed his sunglasses, and grinned, 'Go with Blaine tomorrow, and see how it goes. Come back with pictures, and I'll know that you have my back. Come back a member of New Directions, and, well, no hard feelings.'

A palpable confusion floated across Michael's face and made the air thick between the two friends. Though he had never been in a relationship and lacked any real point of reference, the sophomore suddenly felt like he was being…'dumped'.

'You've told me countless times that I'm one of the Croparrazi's greatest assets,' Michael' s desperation crept into his words, 'Why would you risk losing me to my cousin?'

'Because, I'm your friend, Mikey, and I only want what's best for you,' without warning Charlie hugged Michael fiercely, 'I love you enough to let you go. Fly, little bird…fly.'

Michael Liston stood in shock for a second in the awkward one-sided embrace of Charlie Booth. After a moment, Michael noticed that Charlie was shaking, and a second after that he recognized the movement for what it was, laughter.

The younger boy pushed Charlie off of him, with the latter exploding into hysterical giggles during the extraction.

'There's something wrong with you, you know that right?' Liston stated.

Tears ran down Booth's face, and he cackled in glee at Michael's annoyance. Finally he moved back beside the sophomore and threw his arm around his shoulders in a genuine sign of affection, 'Listen, all kidding aside, just go with him tomorrow get some pics of those clowns with their metaphorical 'pants down'…'

Charlie cocked his head in thought, interrupting himself, 'Though 'actual, non-metaphorical' nudes would be awesome.'

"And what happens when my pictures show up online?', Michael questioned.

Charlie smirked, knowing that that was only a problem for someone far less intelligent than he, 'Please, first, you're going to e-mail all of the pictures to the members of New Directions. Second we'll wait like a month or two before we use them. Finally, we'll do a symbolic 'hack' of that idiot Brittany Pierce's phone and the Croparazzi will be the 'bad guys'…not Michael Liston.'

'Why the coverup?' Michael wondered aloud.

Charlie smiled, 'Because, my dear Mikey, I want you on the inside, trusted, so much so that everything New Directions does that might be, oh I don't know, embarrassing, you'll be in a position to feed it to me, bite by delicious bite.'

Michael sighed, knowing that ultimately he needed Charlie far more than he needed Blaine, 'What do you want me to do?'

Charlie squeezed the younger boys shoulders, and put his sunglasses back on, 'I want you to go up into the mountains and have a blast, Mikey…have a blast!'

(Author's Note: Thanks again for all the helpful reviews! Sorry if the last scene was a bit confusing but I wanted to make it look like Blaine might be 'straying' ;) Also, Charlie references the events of Drawing Fire in the scene above, so if you haven't, check that story out for clarification. Finally, Blellie returns in full-force with the next scene ;) Thanks again, you guys are amazing!)


	31. Wishing Well Scene 5

(Author's Note: Sorry about the confusion stemming form the reorganization. I had briefly posted this scene yesterday but deleted it to give everyone time to adjust to the rework. Thanks to all for reading and for all the support!)

* * *

Blown hot and heavy through the windows of the ancient Honda Civic, the Ohio air swirled throughout the limited interior of the small car, blowing the hair of both passengers around their heads and occasionally into their eyes. The streets surrounding them were empty, as the more fortunate sought refuge from the sun's blistering work; leaving Lima to appear the victim of some apocalyptic event, one so profound that only two survivors remained.

'Thanks for the ride,' Blake said from the passenger's seat.

Nellie smiled and nodded.

Again, only the wind from the open windows 'spoke' inside the car, with the juniors rendered mute by the crushing grip of nerves and expectations. Ryan turned and opened his mouth, ready to say something, but he quickly dismissed the statement and resumed staring out of the front windshield. Left hand at '10' and right hand at '2' o'clock, Nellie's wide eyes seemed interested only on the nearly vacant road ahead, and her continued silence suggested that she was deep in thought. However the truth was that her voice had run screaming from the old Civic, as soon as Blake had asked for a ride.

'My truck will be fixed this evening, so I shouldn't have to bother you again,' Blake again attempted to crack the unbreakable silence.

Nellie glanced over at the handsome boy and shook her head, trying to convey that it was not a problem, but succeeding only in adding more tension to the moment. As she stared, Blake's eyes ghosted over hers, just as a long strand of hair blew free from behind his ear and brushed gently against his cheek. In the maelstrom created by the lowered windows and with his hair alive with the gusts, Blake seemed to be a shanghaied sailor, walking along the sand of some deserted isle; a figure more myth than fact...intangible, otherworldly. Nellie's eyes softened and lost focus, as her mind whirled with daydreams and wishes, dreams where she walked the shores of that mythical island, her hand in his.

'Nellie!' Blake screeched.

Returning from fantasy to the hot Lima road, she cut the Civic's wheel and narrowly avoided the yellow Labrador that had materialized during her…'distraction'. Shaken by the near miss, Nellie pulled the car to the side of the road and blinked several times in rapid succession, as if she were trying to wake up, clear her head, or, in her case, both. As her heartbeat slowed, embarrassment rushed to fill the void vacated by her shock's retreat. Placing her forehead against the steering wheel, Nellie took a moment to decide whether she should laugh or bawl her eyes out.

Luckily Blake made the decision much easier, when he tried, unsuccessfully, to muffle a chuckle.

Narrowing her eyes in mock anger, Nellie peeked over from her spot on the steering wheel and 'glared' at him…which only fueled the boy's uncontrollable giggles. Lifting the back of his hand to hide his mouth, Blake hardened his face and tried to nod solemnly, as if appraising their recent brush with canine-icide. To his credit, he put up a hell of a fight, remaining silent despite the smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Resting her head against the wheel as if it were a pillow, Nellie turned and watched her passenger. As he struggled to house his laughter, she felt her own grin slowly climb onto her face. Reaching up with her right hand, Nellie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and released Blake from his torture.

'Go ahead,' her newly returned voice and smile granting him reprieve.

With her permission, a bark of laughter broke through Blake's lips, but he immediately repressed the giggles that had lined up behind the first and looked over at her.

'I'm sorry,' Blake nodded, trying to maintain his composure, 'Nearly killing a dog isn't funny…it really isn't. I'm not sure why I'm laughing. 'Relief' maybe?'

Lifting her eyebrows in surprise, Nellie glanced in her side mirror and watched the Lab trot away to points unknown.

'He's fine,' she reassured him.

'Not 'relief' for the dog, I mean I'm glad its okay and everything, I'm talking about, ' he gestured to the space between them, 'this. Us talking. God, I'm super nervous for some asinine reason, and I guess I'm relieved that that Lab decided to pick right now to wander out into the street and risk its life, so we could, I don't know, find a reason to start talking. Does that make me sound crazy?'

'Yes,' Nellie smiled.

His laughter faded but his smile remained. Stationary as they were, the heat and silence threatened to again form a beachhead in the Civic, but Blake kept the latter at bay.

'We haven't talked since…since that night,' he nearly whispered.

Out of habit she looked down, but once she felt herself start to the slip back into her old defense mechanisms, Nellie forced her gaze back to Blake's. Swallowing against the dryness in her throat, she cursed her cowardice and vowed to act with the strength of self she now knew she possessed.

Shifting as much as her seatbelt would allow, Nellie faced her body toward his and lifted her hand.

'Blake Ryan, I'm Nellie Baker…rumor has it you want to be friends, and I've heard, now try to follow me because this is radical thinking, I've heard that friends sometimes, occasionally…,' still shaking a bit, she leaned forward as if sharing a secret, '…'speak to one another'.'

His eyes went wide with 'understanding' and he took her hand in both of his and shook it.

''Speak to one another', you say?! Why that's…that's revolutionary!'

Leaning forward, he meant to continue with their little game of 'ice breaking', but his movement actually carried him a bit closer than he had initially wanted. However, once he was a few inches from her, Ryan knew he was precisely where he needed to be, but with her proximity, his train of thought derailed entirely; all he could do was look into her eyes and subsequently his own reflection found within their depths. Aware that he still held her hand, yet unwilling to release it, Blake allowed himself a moment to simply 'be' in Nellie's orbit.

A hint of lavender tiptoed from her flesh and crept through the still air, weakening him further. The pressure of her fingers eased, as the girl herself relaxed, and before Blake knew it, he had closed his eyes loosing himself in her scent, her touch. For the first time since his mother had told him they were moving to Lima, Blake felt...'safe'. The hurt of the last few months dissolved, smashing itself to atoms against the rock that was Nellie Baker. Sense, understanding, point and purpose solidified in his mind, just as it had that night against the Croparazzi...all because of the girl in front of him. Ultimately, an explanation for this phenomenon wasn't his to divine, instead he just reveled in the knowledge that he was living a moment he would never forget.

When he dared to crack his eyes, he saw that Nellie's were closed, her face was flushed, and her breathing quick with anticipation. Blake's mind roared with bold actions, daring him to 'seize the day' as Mr. Schue had so instructed.

Nellie's heart pulsed with the cadence of a tap dancer, and sent blood thundering through her veins, but the sensation, unlike one caused by fear, was welcomed. Barely aware of her actions, her head moved closer to Blake's...as his crept closer to hers.

Simultaneously from lips only a few inches apart, each whispered,

_'Carpe Diem.'_

* * *

_(Author's Note: I know that was mean but I promise to make it up to you with the next few scenes ;). As always, I love hearing from you guys, so please, please, please let me know what you think works or doesn't!)_


	32. Wishing Well Scene 6

Nellie couldn't remember a bedtime of her youth that hadn't included her grandfather by her bedside, reading a story, reciting a poem, or telling a tale too tall for the light of day. Legends bold and beautiful had flowed during those twilight moments before sleep, when ghosts and goblins did indeed slip into closets and beneath beds. However, in her grandfather's fables, monsters were fought head-on with magic and strength. When the time came for a 'happily ever after', every dark corner of every child's bedroom in the world entire lay clean and unoccupied, and the forces of evil and mischief were no more.

Peripherally aware of her current role in a story very, very similar to those housed in her grandfather's great stable of tales, Nellie moved closer to Blake, as a tremor of excitement electrified her being. Focused in the moment, her subconscious never-the-less had its say, and what it said was that the old stories…were true.

Good always triumphed over evil.

Wishes were always granted.

And heroes and heroines always, always kissed at the end of a great adventure.

'Oh my God! Are you guys okay!?,' a shout came in the window from the rear of the Civic.

Snapping from her fairy tale, Nellie pulled away from Blake thinking two things.

The first was 'What just almost, sorta happened!?'

And the second was 'None of Papa's stories ever had Mr. Schue in them.'

At the window the very same teacher rushed into view, a look of concern frowning his usually cheerful face.

'I saw you guys swerve, is anyone hurt?' Will looked into the car to check on Blake, 'You guys look 'shook-up', please tell me you were wearing your seat-belts.'

In unison, both Nellie and Blake grabbed their respective shoulder straps, presented them to the worried teacher, and smiled sheepishly.

'We're okay, Mr. Schue,' Blake leaned over to better see Will, and in so doing rested against Nellie a bit.

With his head just a few inches away and his large shoulder pressed against hers, Nellie found that producing an answer for Mr. Schuester was something a bit too complicated for her distracted mind. However, after a pause that seemed much longer in her head than it had actually been, she added.

'Yes…good…everything's fine here. How are you?'

Will smiled a bit at her flustered response, and Nellie could tell that his sharp mind had quickly figured out that the only thing wrong at the scene of this 'accident' was the recent arrival of a 'fifth-wheel'.

'Good,' Mr. Schue's grin climbed higher on his face, 'It's nice to see that you two are just fine. I'll let you guys get back to your weekend.'

He started to move away, but swung back, 'Oh, and have fun at the Wishing Well tomorrow. I'm envious of you guys…sounds like a grand adventure.'

'Mr. Schue,' Blake shouted before the teacher retreated back to his car, 'You should come with us!'

Will smiled and emotion born of the most sincere flattery softened his eyes.

'No,' Schuester declined, 'while I still have a lot to learn about 'seizing the day', the Wishing Well is your lesson. Mine lies…elsewhere. But thank you for the offer, Blake, those types of gestures mean a lot to an old man.'

Nellie smiled with eyes too wise for one so young, 'Your heart is the author of your age', Mr. Schue. That's what my grandfather always says.'

Will returned Nellie's smile, 'Sounds like he learned how to 'Carpe Diem' a long time ago.'

'He did,' Nellie's voice grew a bit softer, as it was unaccustomed to such prolonged social exchange, especially about a topic as sacred as her Papa.

'A wise man, I'd love to meet him one day,' Schuester gave a heartfelt nod before he continued, 'Ms. Baker, do you know what's better than your 'first day'?'

Remembering their initial conversation in the choir room, Nellie smiled, 'No.'

'Every day that follows,' Will winked, put on his sunglasses, and went back to his car.

'Make a wish for me!' he yelled before he climbed into his vehicle.

As his car drove past them, Blake's eyes tracked Mr. Schue's departure.

'I just met him a few days ago,' the boy whispered, 'but I feel like I've known him my whole life. That's weird right?'

'No, I don't think its weird at all,' Nellie's voice was equally hushed, 'I just think that's how Mr. Schue makes everyone feel.'

Slipping back into his seat, Blake smoothed his hair behind his ear, 'Yeah, I think you're right.'

With one last calming breath, Nellie pulled the Civic back onto the road, and the star-joined couple continued their tale.

* * *

A few moments later and Blake pointed to his right, 'Next street, just up ahead.'

'Oh my God,' Nellie thought as she made the turn into Paravel Estates, Lima's premier gated community.

Reaching for the wallet in his back pocket, Blake nodded at the small white guard house on the left, 'Hand them this.'

Nellie found a laminated badge with a barcode placed in her hand. Unsure what to do next, she slowed the Civic to a stop, as an older man in a security uniform approached.

'Sorry, ma'am,' the guard stated politely, 'No through traffic. You'll need to…'

'Hey, Phil!', Blake again leaned over Nellie so the guard could see him.

'Blake!', the man replied cheerfully, 'Sorry didn't see you in there. Do you have your badge or is it in your truck?'

Everything faded to echoes and static, noise too insignificant to divert her distracted mind. As she had when Mr. Schue appeared, Nellie found it impossible to focus on anything other than the boy pressed against her, the nearness of his hair, the deep vibration of his voice. Without thinking, she inhaled the smell of pine that must have been from his shampoo and started to slip into the fairy tale day-dream that had very nearly cost a Labrador retriever its life.

'Nellie?'

Half-lidded eyes ignored her own name; lost as she was in the promise, the wish of a life so opposite from the one she'd known.

'Nellie? You okay?'

Her eyes snapped open and she jerked beneath Blake, as the boy looked on in concern.

'YES!', she said too loudly, 'I'm hunky dory!'

An eye roll tickled her brown orbs.

'I just said 'hunky dory',' she thought, 'oh my God, I just said 'hunky dory'.'

'Phil needs my badge,' Blake nodded to the laminate in her hand.

With a smile birthed in the continual embarrassment which seemed to encompass her new 'visible' life, Nellie handed the card to the security guard,

'Sorry.'

Phil tipped his Drawbridge Securities ball-cap, 'Not a problem at all, ma'am.'

Taking the badge, the guard scanned in the barcode with a handheld 'gun'.

Blake, still draped over her, spoke to the man,

'Phil, I need to get Nellie put on the list.'

'Sure thing, Mr. Ryan. Give me a second to grab my camera,' Phil looked at Nellie, 'I'll need your driver's license too, ma'am.'

With a nervous glance at Blake, she whispered, 'You don't need to put me on 'a' list, or 'the' list, or 'any' list.'

Looking 'up' at her from his current position, he smiled that intoxicating, genuine smile of a hero.

'You're my friend. I like to hang out with my friends. Ergo, you need to be on 'dun dun dun', he added the customary 'sound bite' synonymous with a weighty proclamation, 'THE LIST.'

'You didn't tell me you lived here,' she said absently; the worry still etched around her eyes.

'You didn't ask,' Blake smiled.

Phil returned carrying a small digital camera,

'Alright, you two, pretend its not so blasted hot and give me a good smile.'

Blake lifted his head until his cheek rested against Nellie's and smiled cheerfully. In comparison, a worried, half-grin dressed her face, and her eyes seemed almost too big for her timid yet wholly beautiful features.

'Perfect,' Phil said as he looked down at the pic on his camera's screen, 'Just need your license, ma'am.'

With more than a fair amount of trepidation, Nellie pulled her billfold from her backpack, removed her driver's license, and finally handed it to the guard. Phil took her ID and readied his camera to take a picture of her information, but as soon as he read her last name, the man looked from the license to the girl behind the wheel, sorrow dropping the smile from his face.

Nellie locked eyes with the guard and tried desperately to convey her thoughts to his.

'Please,' she begged in her mind, 'please don't say anything…don't tell him.'

Phil exhaled slowly and seemed to grow older before their eyes.

'I…,' he started but was immediately interrupted by a swallow, 'I went to McKinley with your daddy. We played ball together. We were…friends. You've got his eyes.'

'I'll tell him you said 'hi',' Nellie said robotically, her eyes locked on Phil's.

With the statement, the guard looked hard at Nellie, then to Blake, and that back to Nellie, understanding finally framing his face.

'Please do,' Phil said, his voice heavy and thick.

He handed Nellie back her license and added, 'You take care, Ms. Baker. Have a good day, Blake.'

Phil returned to his guard house, a slower and older man than he had left it.

A touch of uncertainty troubled Ryan's eyes, but he quickly moved past the moment and politely shouted,

'You too, Phil!'

Knowing that she had just skipped out of a bullet's path, Nellie put the Civic in 'Drive' and pulled slowly through the now raised bar of the gate. As she passed Phil, she mouthed the words 'thank you', and he responded with a joyless smile and another tip of his hat.

Around them, driveways snaked from the main road up to the gates of modern day castles. Unused footpaths of decorated stone paralleled their travels, and immaculate landscaping mocked the heat with lush leaves and flowers of the most vibrant of Mother Nature's hues. Behind Paravel Estates' high walls existed a world removed from the norm; one where words like poverty, recession and drought no longer held any power.

The humble red Civic motored steadily on despite the presence of its younger, higher priced peers, and though Nellie had never nor would ever be ashamed of the old little car, she was very aware of the looks she and the vehicle received from the residents of the community. If Blake noticed the looks of his neighbors, he paid them no mind and instead put his arm out the window and his head back against the seat's rest and allowed the breeze to engulf him. Risking a glance over at the boy, Nellie was again struck by how happy she felt with him near, but the fantasy, the fairy tale was just that. As the exchange with Phil proved, she couldn't dodge bullets forever, and soon he would hear more about her. Blake would discover things that couldn't be unlearned, and with that knowledge, their storybook would unravel. For Nellie, she didn't need the customary three wishes, just one, but there wasn't a magic lamp to be found…not in the world of Paravel Estates.

'I should tell him about me,' she thought, 'I could beat everyone to the punch. Tell him my story, tell him how I feel…and let the chips fall where they may.'

'Here I am,' Blake unknowingly interrupted her subconscious-struggle and pointed to a massive modern house of glass and stone.

Slowing to a stop, Nellie stared at the gargantuan structure in a mixture of awe and terror, unable to keep the debilitating feelings of misplaced inadequacy from her face. Again, she wasn't ashamed of who she was or where she was from, but the sheer opulence of the scene was so far outside of her experience, so surreal, that all she could really do was stare in wonder.

'My dad gave my mom a lot of money to speed up their divorce,' Blake soberly spoke as he too looked at the mansion, 'She used some of it on this.'

Nellie's eyes left the structure and focused on the boy, the boy whose voice seemed to grow smaller in the telling of his tale.

'It'll never be a 'home'…not sure I can have one of those again; at least not until I have a family of my own,' he turned and looked at Nellie, 'Its not me. Its just glass and rock...a 'house' but not a 'home'…a contradiction.'

Seeing the heartfelt admission, Nellie again revisited her earlier thought.

'I should tell him,' her mind whispered.

Pulling up the cobbled circular driveway, she put the Civic in park and looked at her passenger, as the car idled.

'I'd never judge you on where you live, Blake. I know who you are, I've seen it with my own eyes, even if we haven't really talked,' Nellie smiled as she finished and absently brushed at a long strand of hair that had pulled free from behind her ear.

As natural as smoothing his own locks into place, Blake reached over and tucked her hair back for her. With his fingers still behind her ear, he stared at her with a look so similar to Nellie's that despite their vast physical differences she felt as if she looked into a pane of Blake's mirrored house.

Pulling his hand away slowly, he attempted to shift the mood with a little humor.

'If this were a Rom-Com, I would reach over, steal your keys and run inside to get you to stay for awhile, but in real life that's called kidnapping. So, in an effort to avoid a felony, I'll just ask you,' Blake's friendly, handsome face grew even more welcoming.

'Stay,' he said softly.

'I…', Nellie started thinking about her grandfather but in so doing she thought about his advice…and Mr. Schue's lesson, 'I…I need to make a phone call.'

Blake's face exploded into a huge smile, 'Oh that's awesome!'

The junior jumped out of the Civic, ran around the front, and opened Nellie's door, 'I thought for sure you were going to say 'no'! I'll fire up the grill. Do you like hamburgers?'

Her own smile appeared in response to Blake's enthusiasm, 'Of course, but you don't expect me to believe that you are going to cook?'

'Grill,' he corrected her in mock seriousness, 'we cavemen never 'cook' we only grill…meat…lots of it. But, 'yes' I will be 'preparing' dinner.'

He winked and offered her his hand. Turning off the Civic, she took it and he pulled her to her feet. Again their bodies rested against each other and again they both fell silent. His eyes honest, trustworthy, and heroic gazed into hers, discovering the same strength. Fingers entwined, they stood as a statue would, one chiseled and shaped by a sculptor hoping to capture the very essence of love.

From behind the great house, a dog bark ushered back the real world.

Blake's eyes grew wide, 'The Luckster.'

'The what?' Nellie said with a smile.

'The Luckster, Lucky, my dog, she's outside and by the sound of it, pissed,' he smiled and started moving toward the front door in a near sprint, 'Come on in, the kitchen is straight ahead and the phone is on the right.'

As the boy disappeared into the house, Nellie reached back into the Civic and grabbed her backpack. There at the top of her bag rested her billfold containing her license, and her thoughts returned to the encounter at the guard house.

'I can't tell him,' she whispered to herself, 'Not any thing, not yet.'

When she moved to quit the car, her gaze dusted across the rearview mirror, and she met her own stare. Music only she could hear drifted through the still, warm air, and her reflection begged her to talk to Blake.

'_Take all of your wasted honor_

_Every little past frustration_

_Take all of your so-called problems,_

_Better put 'em in quotations'_

Stepping out of the car, she closed the door and started up the walk toward the front door, but her reflection now residing in the glass and mirrors of Blake's house, was waiting for her.

'_Say what you need to say'_

Her reflection clenched its hands and swayed with the music, imploring her to rediscover the strength she had used against Charlie Booth.

'_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say'_

Dropping her head, Nellie hoped to dismiss the internal debate, but the band and her inner-strength played on. As she entered the massive house, a great room opened around her with a hallway continuing at its far end. Everywhere she looked, half empty boxes rested at various points, casualties of a hasty multi-state move and a full schedule. Some pictures hung along the wall, but surprisingly none of them contained Blake, only black-and-whites of people presumably long dead.

As she looked at the pictures, her reflection reappeared in the glass.

'_Walking like a one woman army_

_Fighting with the shadows in your head_

_Living out the same old moment_

_Knowing you'd be better off instead,_

_If you could only…'_

Down the long hall she walked, accompanied by her thoughts, thoughts that used her preferred language of song.

''_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say'_

Nellie's lips moved with the lyrics yet the song remain audible only in her mind.

'_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say'_

The kitchen emerged at the end of the long hallway, and through the rear wall made almost entirely of tinted glass, she saw Blake running and wrestling with a rust colored collie that could only be The Luckster. As she watched the boy and his dog, her reflection hovered in the glass between her and the playing pair, but this time her own voice delivered the song with her mirror image.

'_Have no fear for giving in_

_Have no fear for giving over_

_You'd better know that in the end_

_Its better to say too much…'_

A tear travelled down the cheeks of both Nellie and her reflection.

'…_Then never to say what you need to say again.'_

Outside Blake looked toward the house but with the reflective surface of the glass and the bright Ohio sun, he couldn't see Nellie…and still he seemed to look right at her. So she sang to him, revealing herself through song in a way she hadn't yet mastered with words, and though he couldn't hear her, Nellie still sang as if he could.

'_Even if your hands are shaking_

_And your faith is broken_

_Even as the eyes are closing_

_Do it with a heart wide open'_

As he moved closer to the rear door, Nellie's song grew softer.

'_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say_

_Say what you need to say'_

The door opened and Nellie's song faded away. Blake looked over, cocked his head, and smiled at her odd expression.

'Are you okay? Do you need something?'

Nellie stared at him, while her tale tried to burst from her throat. Fighting against the life she had known and the life she so desperately wanted, her face tilted between happiness and consternation. Finally, her mind still at war with itself, she answered.

'Yes…yes I need to…I need to…use the phone.'

Blake's smile returned, 'Its right behind you on the base unit.'

Turning her back to him, she picked up the phone, just as her eyes travelled to the glass front of one of the cabinets. There her reflection glared and mouthed two syllables…

'Coward.'

(Author's Note: Thanks again for all of the kind reviews! I know I sound like a broken record but I sincerely appreciate hearing from all of you…it means the world to me. This was supposed to be two separate scenes but I couldn't break up the Blellie…couldn't do it :) Song: Say by John Mayer)


	33. Wishing Well Scene 7

(A little while later)

'So why don't you have a phone?', Blake questioned, as he manned the massive built in barbecue.

Standing beside him, Nellie shrugged, 'I guess they always seemed like a waste, since I don't have anyone to call.'

Careful not to burn either of them, he flipped the burgers and closed the massive lid of the expensive grill, before he turned all of his attention on Nellie. With a look of honest disbelief, Blake crossed his arms over his 'Grill Sergeant' apron, while she, in-turn, put a chip in her mouth.

'Honestly? If I'm prying, tell me to shut up, but…no one?'

Surprisingly, the girl seemed more at ease with that inquiry than some of his earlier, more benign questions about her family…from which he had gleaned very little.

'Honestly,' she reaffirmed, politely covering her mouth while she chewed.

'No boyfriends?', he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head coyly.

'Nope,' she said before taking a drink of water.

'I find that hard to believe, Ms. Baker,' he said before taking a sip from his own bottle.

Over the plastic of the bottles, the pair stared at each other, and Blake narrowed his eyes skeptically and cocked an brow skyward. Much to his surprise and delight, Nellie returned the harmless flirtation by squinting back like an Old West gunfighter. Unable to keep up even the semblance of seriousness, Blake's wide smile split around his water bottle, and he pulled it away from his lips.

Laughing, Nellie's own bottle retreated to her side, and she wiped away a dribble of water with the back of her hand.

'So,' Blake started, the coy smile a permanent fixture on his face.

Recognizing that his interrogation had only just begun, Nellie rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

'Oh, boy, here it comes,' she said cautiously, though a smile tickled her lips, 'Fire away, Mr. Ryan. I know you're dying to play detective.'

His smile grew wider still, and he inhaled, as if readying for a deep ocean dive for priceless pearls…which in a way was exactly what he was doing.

'No boyfriends, ever?', again his eyebrow shot up.

'No,' she said truthfully.

'Not even in, like, first grade?' he raised his right hand in the classic 'L' of a 'finger gun' and pointed the 'weapon' at Nellie.

Turning to fully face him, Nellie raised her hands, as if being held at gunpoint, but even though she covered it well, Blake did notice that her hands trembled slightly, a reminder to him to take it easy despite her apparent willingness to 'open up'.

'No, Detective Ryan, not unless you count Ben Schramm,' she confided.

'Ben Schramm, you say,' Blake 'switched' his finger gun from his right hand to his left and kept it trained on Nellie, while he opened up the grill, removed the toasted hamburger buns from the top rack, and placed one on each of their plates.

'Why should Mr. Schramm be a 'suspect'?' Blake closed the grill and switched back to his right-hand 'finger gun'.

Nellie looked around, as if someone might hear her 'snitching', and when she was satisfied that they were indeed alone, she leaned closer to Blake.

'He let me play with his Red Power Ranger one day,' she whispered.

Ryan's eyes narrowed, 'That's not a clever way of saying you guys kissed is it?'

Nellie laughed, 'No, Detective, it's not.'

'So what became of the highly intelligent Mr. Schramm?' Blake continued.

Nellie's forehead scrunched up, 'Why is he 'highly intelligent' all of a sudden?'

'He was nice to you,' Blake said quickly, 'Boy couldn't have been stupid.'

Nellie's face fell, and she seemed to 'darken' despite the bright sunshine.

'Ben was nice, but he only ever played with me that one day,' her voice grew softer with each word.

Blake holstered his 'finger-gun' and smiled, 'I take it back.'

'Take back what,' Nellie said, her hands still conveying her 'surrender'.

'He's an idiot,' he clarified, 'I would've played Power Rangers with you everyday until you got sick of me.'

From nowhere a breeze, the first in many days, sprang up and swirled around the couple. Against each of them, the wind cradled and caressed, cooling both the heat of the day and that of the roaring grill. Their conversation stilled in response to the sudden gust, giving pause to all activity save that of the cooking hamburger; even The Luckster looked up from her bowl to smell the rare wind, squinting her old eyes against the surprisingly brisk blast.

Nellie, her hair pulling free from behind her ears, stared at him, seemingly frozen by his last statement. Gone were the playful looks, and in their place stood the 'hope' that he had seen during their first meeting, and again when they faced the Croparazzi. Blake believed that she was weighing him, searching for a flaw…searching for some reason not to trust his words. He didn't need to hear about her past relationships to know that Nellie had lived a lonely life, it was all there in her eyes. Instead, he asked his questions only to keep her talking, to keep her present with him and not behind the walls of her self-imposed prison. Blake knew that, while she had begun to get more comfortable with him, Nellie still needed assurances that he wouldn't vanish…like Ben Schramm and his Red Power Ranger.

His eyes locked with hers, and Blake slowly raised his hands, mirroring Nellie's pose of surrender.

'What's good for the goose, and all that, Detective Baker,' this time Blake's smile contained more than just happiness…it held a longing that neither he nor Nellie had ever felt.

Relief touched the corners of her eyes, and slowly, ever so slowly, Nellie lowered her hands…and raised her 'finger-gun'.

'Are you going back to New York?', she whispered, 'Are you going to be gone tomorrow, leaving me with the memory of a boy that fought a war against Charlie Booth and then cooked me a hamburger?'

Not one second slipped by before Blake answered with an honesty few people, let alone teenagers, possessed.

'Someday, 'yes' I'll go back to New York, but not now and not tomorrow,' he vowed, 'I wasn't lying, Nellie Baker…I'm here till you get sick of me.'

A tear slipped down her cheek, but Nellie's focus on Blake didn't allow her to notice. Instead she raised her 'finger-gun' higher, aiming at his heart.

'No matter what?', she softly demanded.

For the first time, he really saw just how much Nellie had been hurt, so his smile dropped away completely, replaced by a look of the deepest faith.

'No matter what,' he pledged in a hushed breath.

The wind disappeared, and Nellie lowered her 'gun'.

Putting her back to him, Blake guessed that she was drying her eyes, so he politely turned and opened the grill.

'Hamburgers are done,' he flipped Nellie's on to her bun, 'Give that a bite before I turn off the gas.'

A second later, Nellie was nodding her head in genuine appreciation of his skill.

'That's really good,' she produced a small smile, 'That didn't sound too surprised did it?'

'No it did 'not',' Blake snapped comically at the pseudo-insult and quickly scribbled in the cooking journal on the counter.

'What's that for?,' Nellie asked

'I'm making a note about how you like your burgers for next time, Ms. Baker,' Blake stopped writing, looked over at her, and smiled,'…for next time.'


	34. Wishing Well Scene 8

(An hour later)

As per the warning of Robert Frost, and later reinforced by the kid brother of Darry and Sodapop Curtis, the golden aura of sunset retreated against the steady advance of Night's navy and black canvas; proving once again that it was Nature's hardest hue to hold. Beneath the great, clear sky, Lima had cooled somewhat, but the sun's onslaught would linger for several hours, prompting trips to the Dairy Queen and evening swims in pools and streams. So warm was the weather, the night seemed one of the thirty from June instead of a volunteer from September's ration, leaving all that lived it with a sense of displacement, or more aptly, the sense that perhaps the lazy, hazy days had more in store for them. In theory the strongest of the seasons, Summer fought the hardest before giving way to Autumn, but like the most recent sunset proved, nothing gold, Summer included, could stay…but that didn't mean it wouldn't 'try'.

The old red Civic moved steadily toward Nellie's home, carrying inside it a young woman as conflicted as the season surrounding her. Duty and love warred with freedom and longing. Her grandfather couldn't be left alone for an entire day, which is exactly what she would have to do, if she were to accompany New Directions to the Wishing Well, but every single cell in her body wanted to go, to live, to be free as only the young could.

Streetlights popped on along her path through residential Lima, and with the night's earlier arrival, lines of light immediately began to run across Nellie's face, as she passed beneath each puddle of illumination. The breeze, cooler than when Blake had been with her, still buffeted her hair and added to the chaotic vision with which she saw herself. Absently she glanced at the empty passenger seat, and thought of the handsome boy that only a few hours prior had been lounging there; relaxed and happy, as if he had always been there…as if he 'belonged there'. Nellie tried not to hope, tried not to let the delicious thoughts of all her 'what ifs' weaken her defenses, but her innately contrarian nature fought a losing battle, as her mind kept reverting to logic only just recently reinforced.

'He promised,' she whispered to the old Civic, 'No matter what…he promised.'

Of course, the 'no matter what' had been a double edged pledge; one for him to stay despite any possible contingency that would carry him back East, but the second, the one of which Blake didn't know, was the promise that he would maintain their friendship 'no matter what' he learned of Nellie's past. Ben Schramm had been told by his parents not to play with the 'sad little Baker girl' because her story was too difficult to explain to a first grader, but the practices of youth become the statutes of adolescence. Those same children that formed friendships and established bonds during elementary school continued to 'forget' the sad little Baker girl, long after the need for such sheltering. Still, many found that her tale was too horrible to even 'orbit', as Phil the guard recently proved. Nellie didn't want Blake to learn of her family; she didn't want him to look at her any differently than he had when he rode in the passenger seat of her car.

Nellie wished more than anything that their golden, late Summer afternoon of stunt-driving and hamburgers would live on forever, but like everything deemed as such, nothing gold could stay. Life moved at a pace both reckless and pondering, flashing quick the moments of great joy and contentment and lingering long on spans of loneliness and regret. As it was now, Nellie focused on the last few hours and resigned herself to the belief that it would 'have to do'.

Before she pulled into the driveway of her home, she had already made the decision to call Artie early in the morning and tell him she was 'sick'. She had a duty to her grandfather, one that superseded her own wants and wishes. As she turned off the car and rolled up the windows, the young woman smiled.

'It was a nice afternoon,' she whispered.

The kitchen lights glowed through the window, elevating her worries somewhat, but still she quickly unlocked the door to check on the only parent she had ever known. The smell of coffee greeted her as soon as she went inside, and the welcome sight of her grandfather seated at the dinner table had her smiling despite her disappointment. Beside him, an ancient radio rested with its antennae extended and augmented with additional wire and foil. The snake of a white cord emerged from the side of the old contraption and travelled to his ear, where a massive 'speaker-bud' rested between two of his gaunt fingers. Sounds of the Pittsburgh Pirates' baseball game floated over to Nellie, just as her Papa turned and smiled.

'We're winnin',' he whispered, unaware that Nellie could hear the entire broadcast.

'Good,' she whispered back, put down her backpack, and motioned to his coffee cup with a look of concern.

'Its decaf, its decaf,' he assured his granddaughter.

Squinting her eyes at the ancient man coupled to the ancient machine, she went over to the pot and poured herself a cup of coffee, adding a spoon of sugar and some milk from the fridge. A moment later she sat across the table and began to absently look through her homework for the weekend, when a 'cough' from her grandfather drew her attention back to him.

He looked at her for a second and then lowered his 'speaker' before talking.

'Its 'not' decaf,' he admitted with a sigh.

Looking back down at her homework, Nellie chuckled, 'I know.'

The game decided, her papa turned off the radio and took a sip from his own cup.

After the drink, he issued a long 'ahhhhhh' and casually addressed the only girl to ever equal his beloved Angel.

'Did I tell you my old buddy, Clint Jeffries, has a son needs some help with his '50 Chevy?'

Looking up for only a second, Nellie shook her head, 'No. Did you work with him at the railroad?'

'I did indeed,' her grandfather answered, 'He's comin' over tomorrow to use the garage and pick my brain.'

He continued with some very 'serendipitous' additions.

'He should be here the whole day,' her grandfather traced the lip of his cup with a boney finger, 'I'll be askin' him to stay for dinner too, so he'll be here…the whole day and evenin'. He's a great boy, an E.M.T….thinkin' about becomin' a doctor that one. He's payin' his way through school by doin' home hospice, watchin' old farts like m…'

'Alright, how did you hear about the trip tomorrow?', Nellie demanded with a roll of her eyes and a knowing smirk.

'Trip?' her grandfather 'acted' surprised, 'Are you takin' a trip? Well that's just great! And Clint's boy's comin' tomorrow! Isn't that a bit of luck?'

'Papaaaaaa,' Nellie elongated the word in an effort to cut short his ruse with mock irritation.

'I'm not at liberty to discuss any more beyond what I've already said,' he took another quick sip of coffee.

'Papa!' she snapped in a half-laugh, half command, 'You answer me this second!'

Using the table to stand up, he drew himself as straight as he could, puffed out his skinny chest and stared blankly ahead.

'Herbert W. Baker. Sergent. 13 001 123.'

'Papaaaaa,' she laughed.

'Herbert w. Baker. Sergent. 13 001 123.'

'I thought 'name, rank, and serial number' were only given when you were captured by the enemy. Am I the enemy, now?', Nellie questioned expertly, knowing her grandfather too well for his tricks to have any chance of success.

Breaking his 'stare', the elder Baker sighed, 'A really well-mannered boy called about forty-five minutes ago and told me.'

A look of concern crossed Nellie's face, but her grandfather quickly added.

'He asked if I was your 'parent or guardian' and I said I was,' a dark cloud blew across his brilliant blue eyes, 'don't worry, he didn't act any different and went right on tellin' me the specifics of your trip.'

'Who was it?', Nellie wondered out loud.

'Hart. Joe Hart. He called me 'sir' the whole time. Haven't heard those types of manners since the 50s.'

Nellie smiled, 'What did he say?'

Sitting back down, Herb pulled out a pad of paper from behind his radio and put on his 'cheaters'. After focusing on the page for a second, he started his recitation.

'You all are to meet at the school at 9 tomorrow morning. Bring normal 'Summer' clothes, a swim suit, something to eat, and anything else that you might need for a picnic.'

Nellie eyed her grandfather skeptically, 'Is Mr. Jeffries son really coming over tomorrow?'

'He is,' he made an 'x' over his heart, 'promise.'

That was her second 'promise' of the day, and God help her, Nellie believed this one as much as she had the last.

'Are you sure about this, Papa?'

'I'm sure I want you havin' some fun,' he laughed, 'And I'm sure I can handle a 'playdate'.'

Clearing the edge of the table in record time, Nellie engulfed the old man in a hug.

'Thank you,' she whispered into his ear.

When she pulled back, her grandfather took her hand and placed something in it. Looking down, Nellie saw the dull copper of a worn penny.

'Wishes are about the only thing still in our price range now-a-days, so treat yourself to one,' he winked.

(Author's note: I hope to post a scene-a-day this week. Thanks again for all the wonderful comments. You guys are the best!)


	35. Wishing Well Scene 9

(The Next Day)

Still only a little before nine o'clock in the morning, the heat of the early sun already sought to dominate the crystal blue sky, and in turn, the whole of the city of Lima beneath it. In concert with the sun, the air smelled of all things Summer: hot dogs, fireworks, suntan lotion, and freedom, but like the Sumatran Tiger or the Giant Panda, the perfect day seemed even more precious, since it was one of the last of its kind. Winter's cold chill would soon blow through Ohio carrying with it the Arctic air and snow of the north, making such a day fade into memory.

But that was tomorrow, and today was just perfection blended together with equal amounts of sun, heat, and sky.

Like a preacher of old, Joe Hart stood ready to deliver his 'sermon' from the back of Blake's truck. Wearing nothing more than a pair of cut-off cargo pants, a few necklaces, and his religious 'ink', the boy held a sense of spirit few of any faith could honestly wield. Joe seemed the logical addition to Mother Nature's singular day, as he was a young man of such stalwart conviction and beauty that his flaws, while there, were undetectable, making him seem as 'perfect' as the world around him.

With his 'flock' circling him, the 'shepherd' provided the day's itinerary, while all bore witness, albeit some skeptically.

'Alright, alright, alright,' Joe Hart said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, 'Since the last leg of the trip involves some 'off-road' action, Brittany has agreed to take the girls in her Jeep, while the boys ride with Blake in his Tacoma. Please don't worry about the cars we leave behind, Mr. Schue has informed the school that we'll be leaving them here until this evening, so they'll be ready for us tonight. Unless you have any questions, please grab your gear and let's get rolling!'

A hand extended from the cuff of a long sleeved t-shirt and shot into the air, begging a moment from 'Shepherd' Hart.

'Wait,' Rory questioned from beneath a large straw sunhat,'Does that mean some of us are riding in the 'back' of his truck? I heard that's frowned upon by the local authorities.'

Nodding in agreement, Joe deferred to Artie, who seemed to be the frontman for all 'logistical' questions.

'We're only going to be on the main road for about fifteen minutes,' the senior stated calmly, 'We can squeeze into Blake's cab until we hit the…the next part.'

'Excuse me,' another voice interjected.

As a second hand raised in the air, the group's attention was drawn to the most impeccably dressed among them. Slightly askew fedora, classic ray-bans, unbuttoned vintage Hawaiian shirt, and fitted shorts cast Blaine Anderson in the light usually reserved for vacationing members of the Rat Pack. In fact so handsome and 'put together' was he that had his brother, Cooper, seen his sibling at that moment, he would've begun a slow clap for Blaine's achieving a truly 'movie-star-esque' appearance.

The former Warbler continued, 'But, Artie, when did you become the GPS of this little soirée? Last I heard you haven't been to the Wishing Well.'

Abrams smiled, 'I haven't been the 'whole way' but Joe and I took a little scouting trip last night. I needed to get the 'lay of the land' so-to-speak.'

With the statement, the junior and the senior shared a cryptic smile, but refrained from further explanation.

'OOOOOkay, that was sort of spooky,' Sam said sarcastically, 'Personally, unless this trip involves alien abduction and probing, I'd rather be surprised, so I'm cool with whatever little plan you guys have concocted.'

Though it was apparent that some of the group would've liked some additional details, ultimately the rest of New Directions agreed with Sam's statement, packed their gear, and climbed into their assigned vehicles.

Uncomfortable so far away from Blake and Artie, Nellie slowly took her place in the passenger seat of Brittany's Jeep just as the effervescent blond leapt into the vehicle without opening her door. Resplendent in a woven cowboy hat, bikini top, and Daisy Dukes, the talented Ms. Pierce looked over at her and smiled.

'I like your hair,' she reached over and ran her fingers through the side of Nellie's black mane, 'I'd cut mine that short but Coach Sylvester would make me glue it back on or something, and glue smells like dead horses.'

'Thanks,' the junior girl nearly whispered.

Brittany turned her attention back to the steering wheel and looked cryptically at the Jeep's console.

Finally she turned to Nellie again, 'Have you seen my keys?'

Quickly looking around, she shook her head, 'No, I don't see them.'

Scrunching her face in thought, Brittany suddenly arched her back and pressed her stomach to the sky, while her hands tried to enter the ridiculously tight pockets of her jean shorts. Back and forth Pierce struggled trying to fish out her keys, her muscular body alternating between 'thrusts' and 'arches'.

'Oh for God's sake,' Tina's voice came from the back seat of the Jeep, 'Why don't you guys take a picture, it will last longer!'

Nellie's attention travelled to Blake's truck, where the faces of Sam, Rory and Artie were pressed against their respective windows, watching Brittany's struggles. Blake was staring too, but his gaze flowed over the half-naked, gyrating Pierce to Nellie's eyes. As soon as she looked at him, Ryan winked, squeezed his ball-hat over his hair, and smoothed the wild strands behind his ears. The simple exchange left her feeling more relaxed, so Nellie threw a wink of her own back to Blake.

Finally retrieving her keys, Brittany returned to her seat and, for the first time, noticed everyone looking at her.

'I've got a booger don't I,' she said with a little too much certainty and quickly turned to Nellie raising her chin, 'Do I have a booger? If I do, get it.'

Nellie, her nerves and excitement pressing her emotions to the redline, started chuckling.

'All clear!,' she said in between laughs.

'Good!', Brittany said and started the Jeep.

Looking back into the Tacoma, Nellie caught Artie's eyes on her. Responsible for every positive change in her 'new, visible' life, the senior looked so happy, so 'satisfied' with Nellie's current state. Without a hint of condescension, Artie nodded and smiled.

With more gratitude than she could ever convey, Nellie nodded back to him and mouthed, 'Thank. You.'

'You're. Welcome.' Artie mouthed back.

Just as their journey was to begin, a figure ran into the student parking lot, carrying a backpack, a cooler, and a camera.

'Hey!' the figure shouted, 'Wait up!'

Jumping from the packed truck, Blaine ran up to the newcomer, and after a brief pause, engulfed the boy in a hug. Allowing the embrace for a second, the stranger pulled away and smiled sheepishly at the rest of the group.

With his arm thrown over the boy's shoulders, Blaine proudly presented him to the others.

'Guys, I can't believe I finally get to do this,' he looked over at the dark-haired, young man, 'I'd like you to meet my cousin, Michael Liston. I invited him to come along, and to my great, great surprise and joy, he has apparently accepted!'

With a slow wave, Michael produced a forced smile that appeared a mirror of the genuine one worn by his cousin, 'I hope its okay that I'm here.'

Before he could even finish, the rest of the group erupted into cheers of welcome. The boys made room for the new arrival, while the girls tried to ask him a thousand questions simultaneously. The entirety of New Directions seemed perfectly abuzz with another member for their adventure; well…all save Nellie.

Pulling his camera up to his eye, Michael aimed at Brittany's Jeep.

'Smile!,' he shouted and snapped a pic.

When the lens cleared his face, his eyes briefly touched Nellie's, and a cool look passed between the two. Michael stared for just a moment, a heartbeat, and a worried, frightened look paled his face, and he sat back in the crowded truck.

From her spot in the passenger seat of Brittany's Jeep, she watched as Michael settled in…confident that she did not have him confused with someone else. Having been invisible for the better part of two years, Nellie had learned the composition of every clique in McKinley, so she could successfully navigate around even the peripheral members of the school's more notorious groups. While the others seemed unaware of Michael's friendships and affiliations, Nellie understood them all too well. She had seen him walking and laughing with the proverbial enemy, and Nellie knew him for what he was…

_Croparazzi_.

Just at that moment, Joe, naked from the waist up, hung out of the truck window and pointed toward the distant mountain.

'All will be made clear…the Wishing Well awaits!'


	36. Wishing Well Scene 10

Like an explorer riding a vessel of wood and cloth, Blake looked upon rural Ohio with wonder, appreciating the world around him and seeing its beauty as something so fascinatingly different from everything he had ever known. With his arm atop the frame of his lowered window and the wind blasting against his skin, he couldn't help but smile at the turn his life had taken. Instead of the skyscrapers and brownstones of Manhattan, trees and hills covered the landscape; no traffic, no crowds, just the warmth of a Summer day and friends with which to enjoy it. Such happiness had seemed impossible, when his mom had told him of their move from New York, but while the city and its wonders would always be a part of who he was, Blake couldn't help but stand in awe of the people and the places this new 'adventure' had shown him. Forever would he be a 'city boy', but driving through the fresh air and sunshine of the country, Blake Ryan felt completely at peace for perhaps the first time in his young life.

Glancing into the rear-view mirror, he laughed when Rory's eyes met his…and immediately crossed. With five boys in the backseat of his Tacoma, space was a limited commodity, but none of them seemed even the slightest bit irritated at the cramped quarters. Laughter and conversation flowed to all points of the small truck's cab, creating a bright cacophony of humanity that oddly seemed to Blake to be the most New York-esque aspect of the moment. Beside him Artie's arms flowed hula-style with the song on the radio, while directly behind him, Blaine bobbed his head in perfect time with the beat. All of them, including Michael, looked the part of carefree teenagers, ones not burdened by anything other than enjoying their freedom.

Again Blake looked into the rear-view mirror, but this time his gaze slid past the boys in his truck to the vehicle trailing his. From her spot in the passenger seat, he could clearly see Nellie smiling in the open air of Brittany's Jeep. Unconsciously, his own face grew a grin, watered and fed by the happiness he saw in her face. Ryan had no idea what the girls were saying, but from Nellie's body-language, he could tell she was becoming more comfortable with the group of stellar and supportive young women. With the bubble of male laughter saturating the truck, he found himself entranced by the 'silent movie' in the Jeep behind them, watching Nellie's hair in the breeze, the sunlight on her skin…her lips.

'Just up ahead,' Artie's proclamation returned him to his task, but before he could say anything, the astute senior added a sly, 'Sorry for interrupting you.'

Blake's eyes narrowed in 'innocence', 'You weren't 'interrupting' me.'

'Sure I was,' Abrams winked, 'and since I also know 'what' I was interrupting, I felt the need to apologize.'

Unable to redirect the perceptive young man, Blake smiled in surrender, 'Apology accepted.'

Changing gears, he sought to clarify their course and after seeing what appeared to be a gravel road coming up on their right, Blake gave the senior a quizzical lift of his eyebrow.

Nodding in confirmation, Artie squinted his eyes at the overgrown and unpaved trail, 'Yup, just slow down when you hit it, it has a few ruts.'

Sneaking one last glance back at Nellie, Blake tried to slow his pulse but ultimately decided that he rather enjoyed the sensation and allowed his excitement its day. His truck slowed down, and with his left arm, he signaled the trailing Jeep, by pointing to the nearly hidden road. With a dip, they pulled onto the loose rock and were greeted with the 'crunch' of the tires against the gravel.

Suddenly, Joe's dreadlocked head appeared between he and Artie.

'About a half-mile up, and you'll see a gate. We'll need to stop there, so I can open it; probably be a good time to rearrange ourselves,' Hart grinned, 'Not that I mind sitting on Sam's lap.'

The blond, obscured by Joe's mass, laughed and offered his own opinion on the subject, 'Dude, I don't mind you sitting on my lap at all because your hair smells so damn good!'

'I know right!', Rory added and then sniffed loudly, 'What is that…cinnamon?'

Joe rolled his eyes, unable to tell whether or not his leg was being pulled, 'Its an oil I use…I'll give you guys some, if you like it. Of course, you'll have to grow your hair out first.'

'I think we can all agree that Rory and I would look badass with dreads, right?' Sam asked the truck.

'You and I have two very different definitions of 'badass',' Blake deadpanned.

Everyone erupted into laughter, including Michael, and as the harmless ribbing continued, Joe looked over at Blake for a few beats and smiled, 'Isn't that something?'

'What's that?' Ryan asked his unique new friend.

With a clap on his shoulder, Hart's eyes glistened with a sincerity Blake wasn't sure he had ever seen, 'That look you had when I first met you, the look like you were 'searching for something'…it's gone. I guess whatever it was you found it in Lima, brother.'

Taking his eyes off the road for a second, he looked at Joe but couldn't find the words to answer his profound statement, and in the end opted for just a nod and a smile of agreement. In response, the faith-driven boy reciprocated the nod and returned to the backseat, where he promptly provided each occupant with one of his dreads to 'smell'…which resulted in more howling laughter.

Moments later a massive gate appeared just as Joe had predicted, the vehicles stopped, and New Directions emptied to reorganize and investigate. As the girls and boys mingled, Blake made his way over to stand behind Nellie. With his approach, the young woman seemed to grow rigid, but before he took his spot behind her, she had conquered her nerves, at least to the point where she seemed 'visibly' more relaxed.

'Tight squeeze in your truck,' Nellie tossed the comment over her shoulder.

Blake smiled, 'You looked like you were having fun.'

Situated behind her as he was, he could only see the back of her head, as she replied.

'The laughing and the smiling?' she clarified, 'You've obviously never driven with Brittany…what you were witnessing was 'terror'.'

Blake's eyes widened in surprise, and he curled his head over Nellie's shoulders to stare the girl in the face.

'Oh…my…God…you just made a joke.'

Nellie smiled contentedly, 'Yes I did.'

'Did it feel good?', Blake said still smiling.

'It did,' Nellie nodded her head, 'It really, really did.'

While the pair talked and laughed, as only a lucky few could, the rest of the group gathered in front of the locked gate.

'You know this isn't 'sort of' how horror movies start…this is 'exactly' how horror movies start.'

Tina's observation hung in the warm air, daring the others to challenge its ironclad logic.

The group stood staring at a high barbed-wire fence, with its gate sealed tight with not one but 'two' industrial bar-locks. Adding yet another ominous bullet-point to Tina's comparison, faded signs of warning and promises of prosecution covered much of the chain-linked surface. Behind them, the gravel path wound back into the woods to the paved road and 'civilization', but for the most part, the group and their vehicles seemed the only pilgrims brave enough to travel to the gates of what appeared to be a very unholy land.

From the Tacoma's passenger seat, Artie broke the silence, hoping to halt Tina's growing dread.

'Just wait,' the senior boy said with a smile, 'It's worth it.'

Tina turned and glared at her partner, 'I'm not joking, Artie, this looks like a crappy slasher flick! We go to a place in the middle of nowhere with signs telling us to stay out! Haven't you seen Scream! Anyone that's ever had a drink, sex, or been a douche is going to be looking at the business end of an axe! I mean…wait…am I the one that sees it and the rest of you don't!? Oh my God, I'm Cassandra aren't I!? You guys are going to think I'm crazy, and we'll keep going! Then one of you, usually the character that's either drank, fooled around or been the doucheist, will say something soothing and the rest of you will buy it and ignore me!'

Smiling from ear-to-ear, Artie waited for Tina's tirade to blow itself out, 'Okay, okay, death by maniac is a valid fear, so are the rest of you worried too?'

The teens looked at each other, with Tina trying to non-verbally rally support with anyone that made eye-contact with her. Still no one added to Cohen-Chang's concerns, but no one refuted them either. Finally Brittany stepped forward and smiled.

'I think its really pretty here,' she said in her normal, jovial matter-of-fact way.

Immediately the rest of New Directions nodded their heads in agreement.

'Brittany's right,' Blaine concurred.

'I can't argue with that,' Sam agreed.

Tina's eyes grew wide, and she started gesturing wildly, trying to point out to the group that this was exactly what she said was going to happen. As one, the others changed the topic and started discussing a myriad of other subjects, while the co-leader of the group seemed on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

Before Tina could revisit her horror-story theory, Artie provided a less sinister explanation for the gate and its warnings.

'One of the members of Joe's church owns this land, so to keep people from wandering up here, unsupervised and getting into trouble, he built the fence and the gate. But that was…what?' Artie looked over at Joe, 'Thirty years ago?'

'Yes that's about right,' Hart agreed, 'Long enough so that most everyone has forgotten about the Wishing Well.'

'So we're here then?,' Tina questioned, as she tried to calm herself.

'Not yet,' Joe explained, 'Through this we will find the road that leads to the Well.'

Clapping his hands loudly, Sam Evans moved to the gate, 'Well come on and crack this puppy, so I can see this place and we can each get our wish!'

Together the two newest members of New Directions bore witness, as the veterans prepared for the next leg of the journey, and as they watched, Blake whispered from over Nellie's shoulder…just loud enough for the girl to hear.

'What are you going to wish for?'

'I can't tell you,' she whispered back.

'Why because it won't come true?'

'No,' she said with a voice so soft it seemed born in a fever-dream, 'because it already has.'

* * *

(Author's Note: Again, me, broken record, but you guys are awesome and need to be told :) Thanks to all!)


	37. Wishing Well Scene 11

(The other side of the looking glass/gate)

'Where are we?' Blaine said in a voice usually reserved for a mind-blowing ensemble concocted by his significant other.

Toeing the border of two worlds, Joe shrugged, 'I guess you could say it's a real life 'trail to nowhere'.'

Before the group stretched an unkempt, yet wholly passable, four lane road. Nowadays, it would have easily been called a 'highway', but the path seemed…older, and in many ways, ancient. Stray blades of tall grass grew high among the cracks in the pavement and a few smaller stones from the nearby hillside had cobbled the surface somewhat, but none of those facts seemed to dampen the group's wonder that something so modern existed somewhere so remote…forgotten by the rest of the world.

'How can this be?' Nellie moved beside Blaine, awestruck, along with the older boy, at the strange sight.

Instead of answering, Hart stepped onto the road and turned, presumably charting the artery's path up the mountain, but his eyes seemed unfocused, as if he were in the thrall of a fond but distant memory. From farther up the four-lane 'highway' in the direction of their guide's stare, a breeze drifted down from the peak and dusted one of Joe's dreadlocks from his bare-shoulder. Planting his feet, he spread his arms and embraced the breeze, as one might accept the hug of a love, long lost.

When he started speaking, he kept his back to the group, and his eyes remained closed; his voice lowered penitently, as if in prayer.

'My pastor told us that this land had been reclaimed by God…that He had seen fit to save a piece of Eden, so we might grow closer to Him…and He to us. When I was a little boy, my church would come up to the Well to witness God's beauty firsthand. During these trips, we did not preach the Gospel…we lived within it, communed with God, and found happiness in one another. All were welcome, whether or not they believed as we; it was more than a celebration of faith; it was a celebration of the human condition. Songs were sung, dances were danced, and courses were straightened. Each and every time we climbed up the mountain and went to the Well, we came down with new friends…we came down a closer, stronger group.'

Sound ceased save for the fresh breeze and the whispers of memories shelved. Finally a solemn and respectful voice begged Joe to continue.

'You said 'when I was a little boy',' Sam quietly stated, 'What happened? How long has it been since you've been up here?'

From behind him, the others could see Joe's shoulders sag and his head dip.

'Fewer and fewer people had time for church, let alone a revival, and those that tried to continue started to get too old to make the trip. A couple of us tried to organize 'youth retreats' to the Well, but...things happened, and time kept marching on. The last time I was here was two years ago with one of my friends. To be honest, we said 'goodbye' to the Well that day, so I didn't think I'd ever see it again. But when I heard Mr. Schue's lesson, I...I can't explain it. I just 'felt' that the Well could show us how to Carpe Diem.'

Slowly, Joe turned back around to the others, tears marking his cheeks.

'I don't know how, but I just knew that this place could help us find our collective voice and grow as a family…because I've seen it happen, and I have faith that it will again.'

Stepping forward, Tina wrapped the emotional boy in a heartfelt hug.

'You're a good man, Joseph Hart,' the senior whispered into his ear, 'one of the best I've ever known.'

Nodding, Joe returned her hug, his dreads sliding from his shoulders to those of the smaller Cohen-Chang. Seconds slipped by, with the friends holding one another, until Tina pulled back slightly, a strange look on her face.

'You smell like cinnamon,' she seemed surprised at her own statement but then lowered her nose to his hair, 'Oh my God, you're like a big sweet roll!'

The mood lightened, a few chuckles glided away on the wind, and the group drew closer around Joe, offering support and love to their guide in this strange, wondrous new 'land'.

A few beats later, Michael, standing at a polite distance, snapped a picture, lowered his camera, and addressed the others.

'Really, what is this place? And why haven't any of you heard about it?' the spy's eyes twinkled with the intoxication of 'mystery', 'I mean…this is rad. I feel like I'm on Lost.'

Joe opened his mouth, ready to continue his tale, but a shout from the Tacoma halted his story.

'Wait, Joe,' Artie said with a smile, 'Wait till we get there, so we can all get the 'full effect'.'

Hart paused for a second and then gave a knowing nod, understanding the senior's bent.

Artie continued with his mischievous smile, 'I'm not trying to be a buzz kill or anything, but I haven't been all the way to the Well yet…and I want to be surprised.'

Taking a few steps away from the group, Tina turned her attention to the same distant point that had drawn Joe's gaze. The breeze caught her dark hair and blew it away from her shoulders, and for a brief beat, she smiled. So significant was the moment that Michael actually captured it on his camera, even though he knew that Charlie and the Croparazzi would have little use for it.

Slowly, Tina turned back around and faced New Directions.

'All right,' she finally allowed her smile to fully break across her face, 'I'm invested in this little adventure now, so lets do this right. Everyone load back up, and lets get to Joe's Well.'

'Its not 'my' Well,' Joe corrected her with a smile of his own, 'It's 'our' Well.'

Tina stared over at him for another moment and nodded, 'Lead on Joe and get us to 'our' Well.'

* * *

(Author's Note: Had a question concerning how long this story would run, and the short answer is...as long as you guys want me to tell it :) I have loved every second of this process but most of all, I have been blessed to meet some absolutely amazing people *that's you guys :) * A special thanks to my friend, so-gleek, for her wonderful reviews. Please visit her at im-so-gleek on tumblr. Also, if you have any questions about anything, I'm at gleejack on tumblr. You guys rock! And I have another scene all ready for tomorrow...its a musical number :D )


	38. Wishing Well Scene 12

Up the ancient road, the two vehicles travelled side-by-side, like Hansel and Gretel holding hands as they entered the enchanted forest, but unlike those unlucky children, the young men and women of New Directions had nothing to fear from their surroundings, quite the opposite really.

The Tacoma had reshuffled its riders, so now Rory, Sam, Blaine, and Michael sat in the truck's bed, while Joe remained the lone passenger still in the backseat. Blake and Artie rode in the front, joking as only two freshly minted friends could.

From her spot in the Jeep's front-passenger seat, Nellie reveled in the feelings of camaraderie and acceptance, with which the others embraced her. She was visible, seen and while her old instincts still kept her on edge, they did not dampen her experience…her experience as a member of a whole; one with friends and, she glanced over at Blake's truck, maybe, just maybe something more.

At that moment, Blake pulled his truck closer to Brittany's Jeep and lowered himself against the steering wheel, as if he were a Nascar racer, driving at high speeds instead of the nearly pedestrian twenty miles-an-hour required on the ancient road. Reaching over, Artie turned Blake's hat backwards, as he simultaneously reversed his own.

'It's like a switch,' Artie said in a seemingly serious tone, 'When these hats turn around, we turn from men…'

'Into machines!', Blake finished and both boys broke into impromptu 'robots'.

After a few seconds of dance moves, the pair turned and high-fived each other.

'Over the Top!,' Artie and Blake said simultaneously and then devolved into hysterical laughter.

In Brittany's ride, the girls collectively rolled their eyes at the clowning Artie and Blake, but the laughter from the truck proved too infectious, leading the girls into a round of silly giggles themselves. Nellie laughed right along with the others; one of many...instead of one unseen.

With the slow speed and the open air of the Jeep, the passengers of both vehicles could easily hear their counterparts, with laughs and excitement exchanged between them. Almost as a forgotten undercurrent, the radio in the girls' vehicle buzzed in a barely audible whisper, but it was just enough for Tina to catch the intro to a song, which prompted a shout to Nellie.

'Turn that up! Way up!,' Cohen-Chang said, as she stood up in the back of the Jeep and grabbed a hold of the roll bar.

Hair blowing wildly in the wind generated from their flight, Tina turned to the Tacoma and issued a challenge to the boys; her eyes tracking to each of the truck's passengers, daring them to seize the day.

_'Hey, I heard you were a wild one!_

_Ooooh!'_

Behind the wheel of the Jeep, Brittany shrieked in utter 'glee'.

'Drive!,' she yelled to Nellie and started climbing out of her seat before an answer was given, 'This is my JAM!'

With the Cheerio's impulsive exit, her argument never had time to materialize, so the junior was left with no choice but to leap behind the wheel. As Brittany extracted herself, Nellie slid under and against the older girl, leaving the vehicle 'driver-less' for less than a second. With a squeal of thanks, the five-year-senior put her cowboy hat on her new chauffeur and joined Tina at the roll-bar.

Quickly familiarizing herself with the operation of the Jeep, Nellie offered a short prayer of thanks to her Papa for having the foresight to teach her how to drive a manual transmission. Once settled, she chanced a glance over at the Tacoma and her eyes met the dancing, happy gaze of Blake Ryan. Looking over Artie, he smiled and narrowed his eyes, challenging her, driver-to-driver. First Blake pointed to her, then he pointed at his own chest, and finally gestured to the road ahead. Feeling more alive than she had in her whole life, Nellie looked back at Blake, and slowly rotated Brittany's cowboy hat one hundred and eighty degrees, mirroring his earlier action.

The pair 'raced' their respective vehicles up the mountain...all the while incapable of keeping their eyes off the other.

The senior girls pulled Sugar up with them, and with song and dance addressed the boys.

'_I wanna shut down the club_

_With you_

_Hey I heard you like the wild ones, wild ones, wild ones_

_Oooooh'_

Artie locked eyes with Tina for a beat and accepted her challenge, which became their first de facto 'exercise' of Mr. Schue's lesson. Looking over at Blake and reaching over the seat to Joe, he 'slapped' each boys' chest, as if to say 'get a load of this'. Ever the showman and director, Artie waited until the last second, and then, on his command, the three boys in the truck erupted into a maelstrom of bouncing, while he provided the rhyme.

'_Oh_

_I-I like crazy, foolish, stupid_

_Party going wild, fist pumping_

_Music, I might lose it_

_Blast to the roof, that's how we do'z it…'_

'_Do'z it!'_, Blake repeated alone.

'_Do'z it!'_, Joe finished the triple run.

Fists pumping the air of the truck's cab, Joe, Blake and Artie became the essence of youth, joy, and lightning; while across the ancient road, Nellie and the rest of the girls laughed, and in Brittany's case, produced excited 'catcalls'.

'_I don't care the night, she don't care we like_

_Almost dared the right five_

_Ready to get live, ain't no surprise_

_Take me so high, jumping nose dive_

_Surf the crowd_

_Ooooh!'_

Artie slapped the outside of his door and on cue, the boys in the truck's bed took over the rhyme. Sam ripped off his tank-top, grinned his enormous smile, and flexed at the Jeep, as he rapped.

'_Said I gotta be the man_

_When they head in my van, mike check…'_

He counted off with two extended fingers,_ 'One, two!'_

Sugar reached for the blond senior, as if she meant to jump across to the other vehicle, and Tina comically 'held her back' while continuing her dance.

Ready for his part, Blaine stood and placed his back against Sam's, as Rory punched his fists in the air.

'_Shut them down in the club, while the playboy does it, and y'all get loose, loose_

_After bottle, we all get bent again tomorrow.'_

Dark hair and light mingled, as Blaine and Sam, arms over the other's shoulders, fired the last two lines in tandem at Tina's group.

'_Gotta break loose cause that's the motto_

_Club shuts down, I heard you're super models!'_

The group 'boxed' like two trained fighters, learning the other's strengths and weaknesses and growing from that knowledge. Removed from the pressures of adolescence, they lived with a zest that few manage to saddle and danced like no one was watching. However, in the modern world of social media and instantaneous communication, no one was ever truly 'alone', and Michael's camera furiously snapped away, capturing the private moments of New Directions.

Oblivious to Charlie Booth's machinations, Tina, Brittany and Sugar continued the show and implored the boys across from them, urging them with Sia's hook.

'_Hey I heard you were a wild one_

_Ooooh_

_If I took you home_

_It'd be a home run_

_Show me how you'll do.'_

Nellie listened to the others sing, hearing the 'fun' in their voices, but she was also aware of what they lacked. Cohesiveness was something to be sacrificed during an impromptu performance, but even so, her trained ear noticed a hesitation in the group, as if they were waiting for something, or someone, to add the 'unity' missing from the number. Still, she thought, it provided a necessary first step for New Directions…if they truly wanted to live up to their moniker.

Again she looked over at Blake, only to see that he was already staring at her. Unable to keep her cheeks from reddening, Nellie rolled her eyes in embarrassment, but Blake returned the honest action with a look of such longing that she fell into his gaze, willingly trapped by the boy that occupied all of her thoughts…all of her daydreams of wishes long thought unheard.

Gone were Artie, Tina and the others; only Blake Ryan, and the hope he represented, remained. So the star-joined pair sang softly to each other; two people recognizing the presence of their soul's mate, against the backdrop of the Wishing Well's strange new 'world'.

'_Show you another side of me,'_ she sang.

'_A side you never thought you'd see,'_ Blake returned.

Again, the rest of New Directions carried the song, unaware of the moment Nellie and Blake were sharing. The drivers simply stared at each other, imagining themselves in each others arms…lips against lips. Nellie's breath caught in her chest; her whole being one with the body electric, and she swallowed. In his truck, Blake's face grew serious and his mouth flexed slightly, as if the words just behind them struggled to reach the surface…words that seemed crazy, but words he knew were absolutely true.

Suddenly, the road opened up in front of them, and what looked like a parking lot appeared. Both drivers slowed their respective vehicles, but as if they had spoken their thoughts out loud, Nellie and Blake again looked at each other. As the song concluded and their journey neared its end, the pair sang only to each other, while the rest of the group finished their own show.

'_I am a wild one,'_ Nellie nearly whispered her line.

'_Tame me now,'_ Blake's voice begged.

'_Running with wolves,'_ she finished and licked her lips unconsciously.

'_And I'm on the prowl,'_ Blake mouthed back, his face a battlefield of contentment and desire.

Her breathing rapid, Nellie tried to calm herself, but she couldn't look away from Blake…and she would never calm down as long as she looked at him. It was a wonderful paradox.

Lifting himself out of the Tacoma's window, Joe pointed to a trail-head that appeared just beside a modern box trailer.

'We're here!', he cried, 'As soon as we go up that path, we'll be at the Well!'

New Directions scrambled around them, preparing for the final leg of the trip, but behind the wheel of each vehicle, the drivers remained motionless, staring at one another and simultaneously reaching the same revelation…a revelation that if said out loud would be challenged as simple infatuation, or more colloquially as a 'crush'. However, Blake Ryan and Nellie Baker, although strangers to the feeling, knew it not as a phase or a passing fancy, but as an absolute.

It was simple really…they were in love.

(Author's Note: The Well and its mysteries arrive with the next scene. Oh and someone mentioned a 'kiss'…I'll see if I can't do something about that ;) You guys are the bee's knees! Song: Wild Ones by Flo Rida)


	39. Wishing Well Scene 13

New Directions gathered in front of their two vehicles, smiling and anxious to reach their destination, one that seemed more exotic and magical with each step. Around them, an ancient parking lot possessed many of the same characteristics of the 'highway' they had just vacated; long blades of stray grass occupied any cracks in the blacktop, while leaves and fallen branches dotted the periphery. The lot represented the end on the line for the Jeep and the Tacoma, so the vehicles were gutted of all of the kids' belongings and parked at the head of the trail Joe had indicated. Most stared in awe at their increasingly bizarre surroundings, while a few of the group eyed the modern white box-van beside the path curiously, recognizing it as an aberration among the rest of the strange scene.

Eyes still locked with Nellie, Blake reached for his door handle; his intention to go to the beautiful girl and tell her his heart. However, his mission was diverted by the unlikely vessel of Artie Abrams.

'I'm sorry, big man, but I'm gonna need your help,' the senior said, as he pulled himself sideways against the Tacoma's open passenger door.

Blake nearly told Artie to wait, but a quick glance confirmed that the older boy didn't have a clue that he was 'interrupting' this time. Sparing one last look of longing at the girl in the Jeep, Blake nodded, exited the truck, grabbed Artie's chair from the bed, and moved around to his friend, but when he got there, the senior shook his head.

'I'm afraid I can't climb the trail with my chair. I need you to carry me,' he pointed to the white box trailer, 'over there.'

Blake's eyes narrowed, 'What are you up to, Mr. Abrams?'

Artie winked.

Moments later, with the senior in his arms, Blake walked them over to the trailer, and Artie handed him a small key for the padlock. Deftly releasing the clasp, Ryan opened one of the white 'barn-doors' and the pair peeked inside. Upon seeing the contents of the trailer, both boys nodded, the younger in understanding and the older in anticipation.

'Half man…,' Artie whispered.

'And half machine,' Blake finished in a similarly hushed voice.

Quietly the two slipped inside the trailer, while the rest of New Directions prepared for the trek up the trail. A moment later, a powerful roar erupted from inside, drawing gasps of surprise and the attention of the others. Several identical 'roars' challenged the stillness of the Well, until finally the box trailer's barn doors flew wide open, and Artie Abrams appeared, riding a massive four-wheeled ATV. With Blake holding on to him from behind, the friends sped around the group and zoomed along the outskirts of the parking lot, whooping and yelling like extras in one of the many Fast and the Furious' sequels. Finally, they returned to the others; their smiles nearly too large for their faces.

'So this was your little 'secret'?', Tina said with a lopsided grin.

Patting the quad like a horse, Artie nodded, 'Yup. Joe and I brought it up last night, but like I said before, this is as far as I've gone…the story of the Well itself? That I haven't heard.'

Turning off the four-wheeler, Artie motioned for Joe to take the 'stage' and share his story with the group. Sitting on the hood of Brittany's Jeep, the enigmatic Hart motioned toward the trail and began his tale.

'Up this path, we will find a realm removed from its place in time. This land was once going to be developed by a conglomerate of mining companies: oil, coal, natural gas, but even as they built the infrastructure of their trade, like the road that brought us here, they were reminded that dollar bills and greed do not truly control this planet.'

The boy's eyes seemed to glisten, as he fell deeper into the past.

'The coal company started to strip the mountain, layer by layer until they had made a massive basin where the top had been. Trucks carried their findings down the mountain along the four-lane highway made just for that purpose, and that's the way it was for years. However, God had other plans for this place, and just when the gas and oil companies were getting ready to join in the 'fun', the miners hit a massive underground river. Crystal clear water poured from the earth and filled the perfect basin the coal company had made. Rumor has it, the area was submerged so fast that all of the miners' equipment is still at the bottom, a hundred feet beneath the surface."

Whimsical and filled with faith, Joe smiled.

'They tried to fix it, man, did they try. In vain, the coal company waited for the waters to recede, but they never did. They sought other routes to the coal, but each path only led to the river…and its endless water. God had taken back His mountain.'

'So this is the site of some industrial accident?' Tina whispered.

Joe smiled.

'No, not really. This happened in the fifties, when the technology wasn't there to solve the river problem, so the coal company deemed the site too cost-prohibitive and moved on. Nearly thirty years later, when this place was all but forgotten, a member of my church bought the whole mountain for a song,' his smile grew, 'not a 'song'…more like a 'hymn' really. It's been, like it is now, for years; no longer a strip-mine but a piece of Eden. Recently, bottled water companies have been sniffing around, trying to buy the place. Apparently, the water tests out so pure that the big bottlers are willing to pay millions, which is crazy, since it should be soured with the residue from the mine…but somehow it isn't. No matter the offer though, the owner isn't interested in selling. They've seen what the Well can do…they know it is so much more than just a lake of pure water.'

'How big is it?' Rory eyed the trail as he asked.

Joe smiled, 'I think…I think we need to go there.'

As he had outside the gate, Blake moved over to Nellie and stood behind her, joy washing over him as he experienced the now familiar feeling of hopeful excitement that occurred whenever he entered her orbit. All around, New Directions whispered in voices dripping with anticipation and eagerly prepped for the trail, anxious to see their journey's end and oblivious to the presence of true love among them.

From his spot, Blake tried to say something to the girl before him, but the words seemed frozen just behind his teeth. Swallowing several times in an effort to free his voice, Blake closed his eyes, focused on what he wanted to say and tried to summon his normally overflowing courage.

However, as Fate would have it, his words were not needed. Something brushed against his palm, a tentative, kinetic act like a hummingbird whose flight brought it too close to human skin. With the unexpected feeling, his eyes flew open, and slowly he looked down at what had shaken him from his reverie. Shielded from the rest of the group, Blake witnessed the bravery of Penelope Baker…bravery enough for them both; he saw Nellie's fingers, reaching backward…reaching for him.

Blake's eyes clouded with emotion, and for a moment all he could do was stare at the trembling hand of the girl that held his heart. Stepping closer, Blake laced his fingers between Nellie's and gently pulled her back against his chest. Instantly, he was blanketed with the same sensorial fascination he had experienced the night they had faced the Croparazzi. Her hand fit into and around his perfectly, and her touch brought with it such a strong sense of peace that Blake felt as if he had held her his whole life.

It was a powerful nostalgia…for something he had only done once before.

At the head of the trail, Joe Hart, his bare feet embraced by the dark soil of the earth, stood like one of Pan's Lost Boys, facing the mountain's top. When he turned, he waved for them all to follow.

But as the others started to climb, Blake and Nellie stayed together, back-to-chest, five fingers touching their perfect match. There in the magic land of the Wishing Well, they stood; a pair of damaged souls, brought together to heal and grow whole. Two in heart and strength, holding hands against the pain of the past, joined for the present, and melded for time immemorial.

And with the moment, the wind returned.

(Author's Note: Okay so the Well will really appear next scene :) More Michael, more Blaine, and much more Blellie! Again I can't tell you all what your words have done for me. For so many years, I was invisible, just like my Nellie, and now, now I feel like I've found where I was always supposed to be. Thank you all.)


	40. Wishing Well Scene 14

And so they climbed.

Narrow and overgrown with the advance of trees and shrubs, the trail offered little view of the surrounding forrest; New Directions had only themselves and the dirt beneath their feet to guide them. Eleven in total, they walked in silence, anxious to finally reach the end of their journey yet unaware that a traitor walked among them.

Michael's camera snapped and whirled capturing every image he felt the Croparazzi could manipulate, and even stole some pics of things he knew held little value for Charlie Booth and his ilk. Bringing up the rear, he could see everyone else, and it didn't take long for him to realize that despite the steepness of their climb, Nellie and Blake were holding hands. Quickly he brought his camera up to his eye, zoomed in on the locked digits of the pair, but stopped before completing his act. Upon seeing their hands so close through the lens, something stirred within the misguided boy. In that simple act of affection, Michael saw everything that he himself sought. He saw an easiness, a comfort, and a love that completely defined what he desperately wanted.

A moment later, his camera lowered to his side, and Michael continued the climb; his mind buzzing with possibilities...the orders of Charlie Booth forgotten.

At the head of the line, Joe Hart guided the group unerringly toward the Well, but as the only one that new the exact distance, his steps began to quicken the closer they got. Having picked up a fallen branch from the trail head to use as a walking stick, the spiritual boy seemed some type of shaman, but instead of chants and prayers, Joe quietly started to sing.

'_When dreaming I'm guided to another world_

_Time and time again_

_At sunrise I fight to stay asleep_

'_Cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place'_

Spreading his arms wide, Joe's voice rose, strong and pure, and Blaine following close behind added his own pristine notes to the song. Together the boys, so different in appearance, yet so similar in soul blended their gifts into one offering.

'_Cause there's a hunger, a longing to escape_

_From the life I live when I'm awake'_

Hearing Blaine join in, Joe turned, smiled at his friend, and dropped back until they walked side-by-side. As the power of the song surged, the two turned to one another, singing with the emotion of men much older.

'_So let's go there_

_Let's make our escape_

_Come on, let's go there_

_Let's ask can we stay?'_

Unslinging his guitar from the strap over his shoulder, Sam provided both chord and voice to the growing performance.

'_Can you take me higher?_

_To a place where blind men see_

_Can you take me higher?_

_To a place with golden streets'_

One by one each member of New Directions added their notes to the song until only Nellie, Blake and Michael remained silent.

Overcome with the feelings flowing through her, Nellie couldn't comprehend the scene in which she found herself. A week ago, she had been invisible, by choice, alone in the river of adolescence, treading water just to keep from going crazy, but now, she walked hand-in-hand with a boy pure of heart yet burdened with a sadness similar to her own. A group of new friends accompanied them on a journey to a place that seemed more fiction than fact…and they were all singing.

It was nearly too surreal for a rational mind to accept, but accept it she did. No, Nellie didn't just accept it; she embraced the moment more than she had ever embraced anything. All the nights alone, foolishly dreaming of just such a scene. All the stories she read where heroes found true loves, they all paled next to the tale she was living. Everything finally seemed…right.

Which meant there was only one thing left for her to do.

Pulling Blake higher up the trail, they quickly joined in body and spirit with the group, and New Directions became one perfect voice.

'_So lets go there, lets go there,_

_Come on, lets go there_

_Lets ask can we stay?'_

Noticing Blake and Nellie holding hands, Joe smiled, happy for his new friends, and with their display, inspiration, so often a mysterious passenger, appeared to the faith-driven boy. Starting back up the hill to complete the last few steps to the Well, Hart turned back and reached his hand out to Blaine.

'_Up high I feel like I'm alive for the very first time!'_

Grinning around his song, Blaine grabbed Joe and, in turn, extended his free hand to Sam. On and on it went, until all of New Directions stood as one, locked and linked like Alpine climbers, with the partially mechanized Artie Abrams bringing up the rear. Even Michael, the cloaked Croparazzi, had joined the chain, despite the suspect integrity of his 'link'. Ahead the trail leveled off and the dense foliage began to thin, and there just beyond the edge of their vision, a golden glow sparkled through the curtain of leaf and branch.

'_Set up high I'm strong enough to take these dreams_

_And make them mine!'_

Joe raised his walking stick with his free hand and pointed forward, signaling the charge. The Wishing Well beckoned just ahead, and its waters, like the voice of a parent welcoming home their long absent children, joined their song.

'_Can you take me higher?_

_To a place where blind men see_

_Can you take me higher?_

_To a place with golden streets!'_

Together, one being, one voice, New Directions broke out of the forrest, and the trail ended in a flat expanse of clean rock. Tears bled from nearly every eye at the sight that awaited them. A lake of the clearest water any of them had ever seen, appeared; presented to them as one might reveal the hidden friends of a surprise party. Perfect in its form, the Wishing Well reflected the golden light of the afternoon sun, bouncing the heavenly hue against the high rock walls that encircled half of its perimeter. Lush greenery surrounded the explorers, and offered a compositional contrast to the water's spectrum, leaving every one of them with the sense that they had entered a place that used every color in the proverbial box.

Joe lead them to the edge of the Well, and small waves rippled in welcome against the round stones of the 'beach'. Squeezing Blaine's hand, Hart released his hold and turned and ran to one of a number of large boulders framing the edge of the beach. Scrambling to the top, he turned back to others and finished the song himself.

'_Can you take me higher?_

_To a place where blind me see_

_Can you take me higher?'_

With the last line, Joe threw his stick back down to the shore, ran at full speed, and leapt from the top of the rock. For a moment, just a beat, the boy hung suspended above the Well's golden water his hair haloing him like a gender ambivalent medusa.

To Nellie, he seemed the final touch to an already perfect setting. Joe was the paint brush of joy, and the Wishing Well was a canvas of the same…and both seemed of divine origin.

Hart's fist punched into the air and he sang the final line a split second before he splashed into the water.

'_To a place with golden streets!'_

The whole group burst into applause and laughter, pointing and remarking at the wondrous place around them. The beauty of the Well was undeniable.

Still holding Blake's hand, Nellie turned to talk to him, but found his eyes not on the beauty of the Well but on her.

'What?' she said nervously.

He smiled, 'I already found my Well, my happy place…its riding with you in your Civic, its sharing a freshly grilled hamburger.'

Blake lifted up their joined hands, 'Its…you.'

Her eyes bled tears as clear as the Well's water, but her fears, her scars so long unhealed kept her from voicing her own feelings to Blake. She tried though; her mouth opened and closed fighting to free her words of agreement and love.

'I…I,' was all Nellie could ultimately produce.

Her voice inoperable, Nellie surprised herself, pulled her hand free of his, wrapped her arms around Blake, and rested her head against his chest.

Returning the embrace, Blake smiled and whispered, 'I know.'

In the golden light, their silhouettes became one.

* * *

(Author's Note: I should be posting daily beginning on Monday! Thank you all for your continued support...I am the happiest I have been in a long, long time, and I have you all to thank. Please let me know what you think, good or bad, I want you all to enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. You are all beautiful! Song Higher by Creed Also, for those that watched the Glee premiere, I love Burt Hummel…that is all :) )


	41. Wishing Well Scene 15

The following hour saw the group move beyond their initial moments of frozen wonder and on to the enjoyment of the mythical Wishing Well. Music from instrument, MP3 player, and voice echoed against the perfect bowl of the lake, shifting the scene to a collection of photographs from ages past, when community and love trumped the cold electronic paralysis of the present. Laughter accompanied the minutes, the great, universal thread capable of joining together the most remarkable things. Mr. Schuester tasked them with finding themselves and, in so doing, learning about each other, and with every reverberation of note and echo of laughter, New Directions proved their mentor to be one of the wisest of men.

Eventually, they all congregated on the warm flat rocks ringing the loose stone 'beach' of the Well. Absently chewing on a sandwich, Joe Hart seemed incapable of losing his smile; his whole being reflecting the beauty around him, a child of God at peace in His garden.

'So why do you call it the Wishing Well? Why not call it Eden or Star Lake or something?' Blaine asked quietly.

'Because that's its name,' Brittany said in her normal deadpan, 'I mean why do we call you Blaine Warbler? Hello, your name is your name, if other people could just change it to whatever they wanted someone might start calling me Vagina Pierce…and then I'd have to get all my monograms redone.'

'But my name's not War…', Blaine started but Artie raised his hand and shook his head, keeping his friend out of a hopeless debate.

From atop his spot stretched out on a towel, Artie took off his glasses, produced a bandanna from his pocket, and cleaned the lenses. Without them, he seemed much older than seventeen and coupled with the solemn expression on his face, the senior seemed older still.

'Really, Joe, why Wishing Well?', the senior continued Blaine's original line of questioning.

Joe looked down at the rock beneath him and traced an invisible line along its surface. After a few beats, he started talking, though he kept his gaze lowered.

'A little girl called it the Wishing Well back in 1954, as the story goes.'

'So,' Sam said as he dried in the sun, 'tell us the story.'

Joe nodded, his eyes still down and his finger still tracing some unknown shape along the warm expanse of rock,

'The little girl wanted to see her daddy, but he had to go to work in the coal mine all day. When he would come home, she would already be in bed, so each night he would come in and kiss her cheek, leaving a black smudge from the coal dust on his lips.'

The breeze picked up again, bending the nearby branches slightly, as if the trees themselves were eager for Joe's tale,

'The little girl noticed that her daddy had started coughing, coughing that was loud enough to wake her up. Though young, the girl knew the mine and its black dust were to blame, but she didn't know how to help...how to keep her daddy from coughing. Finally, she decided to do what they did in all of her favorite stories…she would make a wish. But she didn't have a magic lamp or one of Jack's beans, so she broke open her piggy bank and sifted through the few meager coins till her eyes fell on the twinkle of silver. A twinkle, like a star…and, as we all know, stars are for wishing.'

Finally, Joe's eyes rose to met those of his friends,

'Creeping out under the black of a starless sky, the girl dropped to her knees in the grass, dampening the flannel of her nightgown in the process. There with the steel penny from her piggy bank clutched in her hand, she wished for the dust to go away, and for her daddy to come home clean. Before going back to bed, the little girl put the steel penny in her father's lunch box for luck, hoping he would carry her wish with him. As the legend goes, that very day saw the mine disappear under the clear waters of the underground river…and the father return, wet and clean, to his daughter's arms. Since then, those that know of it, call this place the Wishing Well.'

Silence stretched over the moment, as the group processed the strange tale.

'That…that can't be true,' Tina softly challenged.

Instead of arguing, Joe smiled and simply shrugged, too faith driven to question the beliefs, or disbeliefs, of anyone else.

Several minutes passed, and the group began talking among themselves, mostly about the story they had just heard. Joe watched the others and noticed that one among them seemed fixated on a point off to their right. Knowing exactly what was drawing their attention, Hart never-the-less played along and baited the others with a perfectly timed question.

'Anyone else need me to clear anything up for them?,' he said with a slight grin.

A half eaten apple in his hand, Blake moved closer, staring off to the right at one of the high rock walls bordering the Well. Squinting his eyes against the bright sunshine, he seemed to struggle to make out something.

'Joe,' he finally asked, 'what is that?'

Returning to his 'invisible drawing', Hart answered coyly, 'What's what?'

'That,' Ryan pointed to a high flat space, forty feet up the rock wall. Four trees grew in perfect symmetry against the rear of the ledge, making the area look strangely similar to a…

'Birthday Cake,' Joe said slyly, 'That's the Birthday Cake.'

Everyone turned and followed Blake's finger to the high ledge. Sam lowered his sunglasses and stood up, intrigued.

'Yeah, I see it,' the blond nodded, 'rock is the 'cake' and the trees are the candles. Right?'

'Right,' Joe again nodded with a smile.

Still too self-conscious to go swimming, Nellie had however reduced her wardrobe to only her white tank top, a pair of shorts and Brittany's hat. Although not wanting to draw attention to herself, she found her curiosity capable of hurdling her insecurities.

'Is that…', she too squinted against the brightness, 'Is that a rope hanging from the ledge?'

'Yeah right', Sam turned and agreed with Nellie, 'I saw that too.'

Artie pulled himself up to a sitting position, his solemn look replaced with one of childish anticipation.

'Joe…what is the Birthday Cake?', Abrams asked breathlessly.

Still dragging his finger against the rock, Joe's sheepish grin turned a bit wolfish, 'That's where you make your wish.'

Finally, Joe stood up and the group's full attention returned to him.

'Unless any of you have a steel penny, there's only one way to make a wish at the Well.'

Sam's ultra wide smile broke across his face. The boy wasn't thinking about money or taking care of his family…or even Mercedes; for the first time in a long while, Evans's thoughts were squarely in the realm of youth, where they mingled and danced with hopes and dreams he had almost forgotten.

'We've got to jump off it, don't we?' Sam eagerly asked, 'To get our wish I mean, we've got to go to the Birthday Cake and jump, right?'

'Here at the Well, 'we' are the coins,' Joe answered with a wink and touched his bare chest emphasizing his point, 'And the only 'tosses' that count are from the Birthday Cake.'

''What are we waiting for? Lets go get our wishes!', Sam screamed in joy, his voice multiplying his emotion with a chorus of echoes.

'There's one catch,' Joe interrupted the motivated Evans, 'You can only jump after sunset…it has to be dark.'

Confusion clouded Sam's face, and a few of the other's shared his look of uncertainty, but Nellie smiled and spoke to herself unaware that the others could hear her 'thoughts'.

'Because that's when the little girl made her wish,' Nellie almost whispered, 'At night.'

Across the broad flat rock, Joe Hart smiled and winked.

* * *

(Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, I was under the weather for the last few days, but I'm back on track now :) Thanks again for all of the wonderful comments. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you guys are getting some enjoyment from this story. You guys are the best of the best!)


	42. Wishing Well Scene 16

(A short while later)

Despite the 'forced march' nature of Charlie's assignment, Michael found himself enthralled with the almost 'otherworldly' nature of his trek to the Wishing Well. The beauty of the scene wasn't lost on him, and often he caught himself simply staring at the crystal clear water, high rock walls, and lush greenery with the admiration of someone with a much cleaner conscience. He tried not to place a narrative on the day, but despite his best efforts, Michael felt himself willingly playing the role of 'villain'…and that bothered him.

Blaine was a wonderful person…that fact just couldn't be disputed, and the rest of New Directions followed his cousin's lead. They were good people, albeit a little too flashy and eccentric for his shy tastes, and they had been going out of their way to make him feel like anything but an outsider. To be honest, their kindness had paid off, and he didn't feel separate from the group at all, which augmented his growing guilt.

Michael had always thought that given the right scenario, he would emerge from his shell and claim his destiny as a hero. That's why he loved science fiction and comic books so much; in his heart, he believed that those characters were just like him, except they had been placed in an extraordinary situation. Michael had felt that he was just one lightsaber or radioactive spider-bite away from being a legend, but now…now he had started to realize that it wasn't the extraordinary that made the hero, it was the ordinary done in heroic fashion.

And no matter how he tried to spin the situation in his mind, Michael knew that a hero would not be following the orders of Charlie Booth, especially not when New Directions had embraced him…especially when his actions could irreparably harm his cousin.

A hero needed strength, not of the 'super' variety but a strength of will. A coward acted as he was, taking pictures to slander the very people that needed his protection.

Michael lowered his head and stared at the instrument in his hands…the instrument of a villain. The late afternoon sun danced off the waters of the Wishing Well and reflected in the lens of Charlie Booth's camera, making the device seem to roll and move in his hands. To the sophomore, it seemed as if the inanimate object were laughing at it's wielder's expense. But Charlie had given him the camera and his orders, and it was not his place to refuse the request of his only friend…whether or not he believed the results tarnished his childhood hope for himself.

'I know who you are.'

The voice came from a few steps behind him and granted him an electric spasm of surprise with the arrival of the first syllable. Using his face's 'hidden' position to regain his composure, Michael answered with a bravado mimicked from the movies and not truly possessed.

'And I know who you are…Penelope Baker.'

Slowly, he turned around and faced the dark-haired girl. Immediately he felt his throat begin to close, as it did anytime he even thought about talking to a member of the opposite sex, but he succeeded in keeping his face calm despite the butterflies threatening to punch free of his chest cavity.

Nellie stood a few feet back along the edge of the tree-line, nestled inside one of the few shadows haunting the Well. Her eyes seemed to mirror his own feelings of fright, but Michael knew that to be wishful thinking on his part. He had seen the small girl stand up to an army…he had seen her make Charlie Booth retreat. Everything he had ever hoped to be: brave, strong, a hero…Nellie was all that and more.

'Why?' she asked the simple question that required anything but a simple answer.

Quickly Michael looked around to make sure that they were indeed out of earshot from the rest of the group. Satisfied with their distant and somewhat isolated position along the rear of the picnic area, he forced his words passed the lump in his throat.

'Because Charlie asked me to,' he answered, his voice achieving only enough power for a whisper.

Nellie paused, and if he hadn't known otherwise, Liston would've believed her to be as nervous as he. Finally the beautiful girl, tucked a wild strand of hair behind her right ear, and continued.

'Are you going to make me say 'if Charlie asked you to jump off a bridge would you?' Do I really have to break out the elementary school cliches?'

When she finished, Nellie quickly inhaled, as if she had been forced to hold her breath. Again, Michael wondered why it seemed like she was so nervous. Was it an act? Something designed to put him on the defensive? Whatever it was, he knew that he faced a very poised and very strong adversary…one capable of besting not only him, but Charlie Booth and the entire Croparazzi.

'He's my friend,' Michael answered honestly.

Again, Nellie opted for the simplistic, 'Why?'

'Come again?' Michael tried to buy himself a second to think.

'You've seen what he does, how he ruins people,' Nellie's face seemed to pale, as if each word were taking a bit of her hue, 'His little empire has been built by hate, and his group just reflects his wishes. So…why?'

Michael, his own thoughts garbled and his voice unsteady, knew that he had to try and come up with something. What would Charlie say? How would he handle this?

But suddenly he thought back to his earlier internal debate, and Michael knew that now was not a time for lies or threats. Heroes told the truth…maybe he would try that.

'He…he keeps me safe,' Michael whispered, 'Without him I'd be like…like…'

'Like me,' Nellie interrupted.

Quickly Michael shook his head, 'No…if only I could. I have…trouble talking…especially to…girls. Being Charlie's friend will…will help with that.'

'Has it helped you so far?' the girl demanded.

All Michael could do was offer a weak smile and shrug his shoulders.

'As soon as we are off this mountain, I'm telling the others…I'm telling the others what you are.'

Michael's face fell, but after a moment, he turned Nellie's first question back on her, 'Why?'

Nellie swallowed and the hair she had just placed behind her ear returned to frame her jawline. Again she replaced the strand but this time, Michael noticed that her fingers were trembling…and his eyes narrowed.

'Because you don't know who you are, Michael and that makes you dangerous,' Nellie finally answered, 'You want to be safe…but in order to protect yourself, you are willing to sacrifice this group. Just like your 'friend' Charlie would do.'

It was Michael's turn to swallow. He couldn't argue with her…hell, in many ways, he agreed with her, so instead, he turned the conversation.

'You never should've gotten in his way, Penelope,' Michael's eyes held the honest sentiment of the dire statement, 'He…I've never seen him look…scared, but I did that night. You scared him, and because of that…he can't let you go. His obsessed…you need to be careful.'

'Should I stay 'safe' like you?' a surprising snap appeared in Nellie's voice.

Michael shrugged, 'How should I know? Like you said, I don't even know who I am.'

Suddenly Nellie took a step back into the shade of the trees, ending their conversation. Behind him, Michael heard footsteps and understood why she had, someone was coming.

'Michael,' Blaine's voice appeared over his shoulder, 'Don't freak out, but I've got an idea.'

Trying to let the tension and pain leave his countenance, he turned to face his cousin.

'What shouldn't I freak out about?', Michael sighed.

Blaine smiled, 'Remember when we were kids, and every fourth of july our moms would make us si…'

Michael starting shaking his head, interrupting his cousin, 'No, no, no…there is no way you're getting me to do that!'

'Come on,' Blaine clasped his hands together and begged, 'I know you remember it.'

'Of course I remember it,' Michael said defensively, 'We had to do it enough.'

'Do you remember Cooper's part?' Blaine asked slyly.

Michael's eyes narrowed, 'Coop did the lead. Wait, why…'

'You do Cooper's part, Michael,' Anderson nodded proudly, 'I want to sing with you…please, just like we used to do.'

Still Michael shook his head, 'I can't, man…I haven't in…Christ, not since the three of us were singing for our folks.'

'I know you haven't changed, Michael,' Blaine smiled, 'I…I want to show everyone who you really are.'

Michael froze.

Who he really was? Traitor? Spy? Coward?

Without realizing what he was doing, he looked over his shoulder into the shadows. There his eyes met Nellie's, and for a moment, they held each other's gaze, weighing, measuring. Finally, the girl cocked her head and mouthed.

Who. Are. You?

Again he looked down at Charlie's camera and then back at Nellie…and a faint smile tickled the corner of his mouth. He turned back to Blaine.

'Alright, but if we are going to do this, you have to promise me one thing.'

Blaine hopped in place with excitement, 'Anything, anything!'

Michael smiled fully and with the act, he appeared to look more and more like his cousin.

'Try and keep up,' the younger boy teased his older reflection.

Blaine Anderson howled in delight.

* * *

(Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of posts this week, but RL got in the way :( Going forward I won't make any promises on a posting schedule but I will try my darndest to publish at least three(3) scenes a week. As always, your comments mean the world to me. I love you all :) )


	43. Wishing Well Scene 17

Drawing Sam, Tina, and Brittany into his confidence, Blaine threw his arms around their shoulders, placed his head against theirs, and whispered as only the young-at-heart could. One at a time the newly conscripted accomplices popped their respective heads out of the huddle and smiled at Michael, and the rest of New Directions, those not privy to Blaine's secret plan, quieted, sensing that the group had a performance in the works. Comically the whispering teens broke their huddle with a simultaneous 'clap', prompting Artie and Blake to laugh out loud.

His breathing shallow and quick, Michael rolled his neck, trying to loosen his tight muscles, but the act, even if performed a thousand more times, could not offer him reprieve from his level of 'stage fright'. Shaking and scared, the sophomore removed his smartphone from his pocket and placed it, along with Charlie's camera, on the blanket at his feet. He closed his eyes and tried to deepen his breathing, but the fear…the fear was too great. Suddenly, what little courage the spy possessed deserted him and Michael opened his eyes looking for an escape route. However, flight was no longer an option, as the only thing in his field of vision was the smiling face of his cousin.

Recognizing Michael's fear Blaine placed a calming hand on his shoulder and smiled, 'I'll get us started, and you carry us with the footwork…I'm not sure I remember the whole thing.'

The younger boy smiled weakly, 'Liar.'

Blaine winked and started to turn away, but before he had taken a step, he spun back around and engulfed Michael in a hug, 'I love you always, but I love you even more for coming with me today…and for doing this.'

Over his cousin's shoulder, Michael saw Nellie staring at him from the shadows, the 'truth' hardening her gaze against the touching scene. Strangely, Liston felt his fear recede and in its place, a new feeling flowed. Unable to pinpoint the emotion, Michael abandoned the pursuit and returned the embrace.

'Lets do this,' the younger boy whispered.

Breaking the hold, Blaine paused for a moment and stared at his cousin's face, a look of the deepest love and respect clearly represented in his handsome features. With a quick turn to his fellow conspirators, Brittany, Tina and Sam, the senior boy signaled for the show to begin.

As the others took their places, Blaine offered a quick explanation to his audience, 'Our Moms really loved this song and every Summer we put on a little show for them…so here we go!'

Brittany and Tina began rhythmically stomping their feet and clapping their hands, and after a few beats, Sam and his guitar arrived with a very, very familiar intro that prompted the rest of the group to howl in delight. Resplendent, in the golden light reflecting off of the Wishing Well's waters, Blaine hopped and stutter-strutted to the music, the very definition of an entertainer. With a perfectly executed spin, the senior planted his bare foot and shared his gift with his friends…and in so doing, Blaine Anderson seized the day.

'_Been working so hard_

_I'm punching my card_

_Eight hours, for what?_

_Oh, tell me what I got'_

Picking up the beat from Tina and Brittany, the rest of the group took over percussion responsibilities, while the girls moved to backup Blaine.

'_I've got this feeling_

_That time's just holding me down.'_

Sam's fingers blazed against the strings of his guitar, fueling the whole scene with the kinetic energy of 'classic' rock.

'_I'll hit the ceiling _

_Or else, I'll tear up this town!'_

With a 'gulp' and a nausea born of terror, Michael joined Blaine, and like Ren and Willard before them, the cousins danced in perfect unison. Voices separated by distance and time finally joined together again and the boys, so similar in appearance, became as one.

'_Now I gotta cut loose_

_Footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes_

_Please, Louise, pull me off of my knees_

_Jack, get back, come on before we crack_

_Lose your blues, everybody cut footloose!'_

With the attention focused squarely on the performing pair, Nellie crept from her shadow, grabbed both Michael's phone and Charlie's camera, and returned to the safety of the darkness.

While Blaine dropped off into a backup role, Michael, his nerves surrendering ground to the excitement of the song, took the point and assumed the role of the absent Cooper Anderson. With moves only slightly hindered by his fright but with a voice seemingly fear-free and strong, the younger boy 'line-danced' with his cousin in the 'spotlight' of the Well's golden aura.

'_You're playing so cool, obeying every rule_

_Dig a way down in your heart_

_You're burning, yearning for some_

_Somebody to tell you that life ain't a passing you by'_

Sam flanked the dancing boys and filled the whole space with the 'thrown' chords of his guitar.

An honest smile on his face, the first one of the day, Michael turned to Blaine and sang directly to his childhood idol.

'_I'm trying to tell you_

_It will if you don't even try_

_You'll get by if you'd only!'_

Clapping each other's hands in choreographed perfection, the pair switched positions and were joined by Tina, Brittany, and Sam for the chorus.

'_Cut loose, footloose, kick of the Sunday shoes!_

_Ooh-wee, Marie, shake it, shake it for me!_

_Woah, Milo, come on, come on let's go!_

_Lose, your blues, everybody cut footloose!'_

Effortlessly joining the performance, Tina paired with Blaine and Brittany joined Michael, revisiting the dance-hall days of generations long gone. The senior group laughed and moved freely, two friends completely at ease with one another, but the sophomore started to 'ice-up' with the proximity of the two-time senior, Ms. B.S. Pierce. Sensing his shyness, or perhaps just 'going with the flow', Brittany took the lead and hopped them all around the broad dance-floor of rock, and then, just like the stone beneath his bare feet, Michael warmed to the beautiful girl in his arms, his dancing solidified, and fell completely into the performance…his fear had become his fuel.

The pairs split, and the girls and boys joined in lines of similar gender, facing one another. Laughing together, Blaine and Michael 'line-danced' toward the girls, as Tina and Brittany mirrored their 'attack'. Passing between one another, the group again reformed into a more traditional performance stance and Michael took the lead.

'_You got to turn me around!'_

Blaine carried the next line.

'_And put your feet on the ground!'_

The two beautiful boys danced together until they were shoulder-to-shoulder, and with whistles and hoots from New Directions egging them on, Blaine and Michael grabbed their belts and readied for the last, and most iconic, part of the song. Then with moves not even one degree removed from Kevin Bacon, they danced just like they had as children, with their legs sliding out to each side in perfect symmetry.

'_Everybody cut, everybody cut _

_Everybody cut, everybody cut _

_Everybody cut, everybody cut _

_Everybody cut, everybody cut FOOTLOOSE!'_

Triumphantly Michael and Blaine punched their fists into the air and froze. First the others' cheers engulfed them, quickly followed by hugs and laughter. Michael laughed, grabbed his cousin's shoulders and squeezed. Blaine returned the act by lifting Michael's hand up, as one would when proclaiming a victorious boxer, which prompted both boys to devolve into laughter.

With the song concluded, Nellie reappeared from the shadows and returned both camera and phone to the blanket, but she made sure to leave the latter active and its display illuminated. Her work done, she again moved into the dark.

Back with the group, Blaine held his cousin close and whispered into his ear, 'You are 'Han Solo', Michael…you always have been.'

As the sun sank deeper in the sky, so too did the sophomore's conscience.

(Author's Note: I'm sorry but that is one of my favorite songs and I always wanted Blaine to sing it :) Song: Footloose by Kenny Loggins)


	44. Wishing Well Scene 18

To the young adults exploring its wonders, the Wishing Well seemed, in many ways, to be an existence entirely separate from the one to which they had awoken, but for all the awe the scene brought New Directions, they provided the same fascination to the world around them. Like the waters of the deep river fueling the lake, the years had flowed on endlessly around the mountaintop; the monotony broken only by the visits of 'explorers and wanderers' of faith. The scene around them, perhaps even Mother Nature, herself, seemed to embrace these moments of symbiosis, when everything existed as it should…in harmony.

Yet, despite the wonders and awe, the triumphs and shared joy, discord still lurked. Ever the taint of peace, doubt, pain, regret, cowardice, and discord roamed through the hearts and minds of several of the group, reminding them that magic did not exist, despite the promises of Joe Hart and his Well. The real world, the one without crystal clear waters and fresh faith, waited for them once they left their perch on the mountain among the immortals. Offering nothing more than the brutality of abominations like TD or the masterful acts of ruination from the soulless Charlie Booth, real life was there…sharpening its claws and filing its teeth.

Nellie ran deeper into the woods surrounding the Well, her breathing augmented beyond what would normally be needed for such exertion. A beat later, she broke into a small clearing, where a large tree acted as the centerpiece for Nature's table. Allowing her flight to carry her to the bulk of its great trunk, she turned, placed her back against the cool bark, and slid to the ground.

Trembling from the encounter with Michael, Nellie fought against the old cancers of fear and flight that still coursed through her system. She tried to focus on the exchange as a victory, one against Michael and one against the paralysis that would have normally petrified her joints and frozen her voice. But despite her success, one thought kept bouncing through her hectic mind.

'Why…why didn't you just tell Artie?'

It was a question that didn't have a real answer, at least not one that arrived in words or was rooted in logic. Nellie had fought her very nature and had seen beyond what Michael 'chose to be' and what she believed he really was. None of it made sense, she knew. He was a stranger to her; one that was aligned with one of the worst megalomaniacs of the teenage experience.

Yet, Nellie believed she saw something in the way the boy carried himself; the forced feeling to all his interactions, the way he subtly shifted his shoulder away from a group of people, the way his eyes never lingered too long from the ground, all of it reminded her…of her. So she had decided to give him a chance, a few hours to come clean with the group, and if he didn't, she intended to expose Michael, as a spy, as a villain…as the 'friend' of Charlie Booth.

However, a 'plan' didn't help to soothe her nerves or keep her hands from shaking violently, so she had retreated into the shadows, as had been her way most of her life. There in the stillness of the land hugging the Well, Nellie's next 'plan' was to regain her composure and still her racing heart…

With a rustle of branches, Blake Ryan appeared at the edge of the clearing, smiled and moved toward her.

'All good plans,' Nellie thought, as her heart shot into Usain Bolt territory.

'You saw that right?', the handsome boy said while jerking his thumb back toward the group.

Nellie smiled, 'Most of it.'

Sliding down beside her, his bare arm brushed against hers, when he lifted his hand to glance at the watch on his wrist.

"Won't be long until its dark, and then…', his eyes danced with excitement, 'we get to make a wish.'

Strangely the simple act of Blake checking the time returned her to an earlier conversation of theirs, and with the reminder of their exchange twenty-four hours ago, Nellie hoped to give herself a few seconds to calm herself.

'Hardly anyone wears a watch anymore, not with everyone carrying a phone anyway,' she stated quietly, 'so why don't you have one?'

Blake looked down at his knees and brushed away a blade of grass that had found its way onto his skin.

'I guess this is another one of those 'good-for-the-gander' questions, right?' he shot her a half-grin from beneath his freed bangs.

Nellie returned the coy smile with one of her own, and she, in turn, felt herself begin to calm, 'Not really…just being nosey I guess.'

He laughed, 'Well prepare to be rewarded for your curiosity because the answer is…weird.'

'I like 'weird',' Nellie said quietly, 'me and 'weird' go waaaay back.'

'How far back?', Blake said still smiling under his long hair.

Her own bangs fell free from behind her ears and provided Nellie with her own tussled mystery.

'How far back?', she repeated, 'Like…Waiting-until-midnight-in-full-costume-for-the-next-Harry-Potter-back-in-the-day-Back.'

Blake's laugh echoed over the meadow, startling two cardinals from a far bush and sending the male's red 'splash' across the clearing. Tracking the pair of birds, the boy finally answered the girl beside him.

'My phone's in the Hudson River.'

Cocking her head at the handsome boy, Nellie was about to accuse him of pulling her leg, but with just one look at his eyes, she knew the truth of it.

'You're not kidding?', she half-laughed the semi-rhetorical question.

He shook his head, 'Mom and I decided that to really give Lima a chance, we couldn't keep…going back to New York. We couldn't go back physically, and we couldn't 'go back' by talking to our old friends everyday…so we chucked our phones into the river.'

Nellie's face fell at the mention of his mother. It was an involuntary reaction, one instilled from a youth spent without a mom…and it did not go unnoticed. However, despite her innate sadness associated with all things maternal, she was able to address another growing concern.

'And you could do that? Just leave your friends and never talk to them again?'

Blake found her eyes with his own, 'Hardest thing I've ever had to do, but my Mom was right. We wouldn't be…we couldn't be happy unless we gave ourselves every opportunity to really 'accept' Ohio.'

Ever so slightly, his head moved a little toward hers, bringing his face deeper into her gaze, 'And I'll be damned but I think it worked.'

'But…what about your friends?', she continued her questioning despite his intoxicating 'nearness'.

'I told them what I was going to do, but I also told them that after a few months, once Mom and I had a chance to acclimatize, I would get a new phone, e-mail address, Facebook account, everything and get back in touch with all of them.'

Relief visibly softened Nellie features, easing her worries and reinforcing her opinion of Blake's nature.

'Nellie?', Blake's eyes darkened and his voice lowered.

Sensing the shift in their conversation, she felt her heart resume its rapid pounding.

'Yes?', she tried to keep the sharpness of dread from the syllable.

'You never…I'm…you don't…Christ, this is a bad idea.'

Scrubbing his hand through his shaggy hair, Blake seemed like he was about to abandon his line of questioning, but then he turned…and said the words Nellie had feared from their very first meeting.

'Your parents…you've never…why don't you talk about them? Are they…'

The assault was so sudden so unexpected that Nellie felt herself pull away from Blake both physically and emotionally. Involuntarily, her body began to 'crab-crawl' in retreat, while her mind scurried feverishly to 'man-the-walls' against the surprise attack, but before she could execute any of her instinctual countermeasures…Blake's hand gently gripped her forearm.

'I'm so sorry…listen I, me, Blake Ryan, I don't care what the answer is. That's what I wanted to say here. I don't want you to ever tell me anything you don't want to tell me, but I want you to also know that I'm here to listen…to just 'be' here, if you ever...'

Pausing to collect himself, Blake just stared, while his eyes continued the conversation. They spoke of honesty and loyalty but most of all they reflected a devotion that would've made William Schuester proud.

'Words…are just that. I won't let something spoken or unspoken get between us. I trust you…with everything.'

Strangely Nellie wasn't crying, she wasn't in shock…she was 'listening'.

'I…I…this sounds crazy, Nellie, but I lov…'

'Don't,' she whispered, interrupting him, 'I can't…don't say…its not…I'm not worth…just…don't.'

Blake's eyes widened, and there, beneath that giant tree, with the cardinals flying around them, he realized just how badly Nellie had been hurt. She didn't want him to tell her he loved her…because she didn't love herself.

Nodding, Blake did the unexpected, he smiled, 'Okay…I won't use the words.'

Gently taking her hand, he placed her palm on the bare skin of his chest just over his heart. Beneath his thin flesh, she felt the rapid pulse that was a match for her own. As if on cue, Blake took his other hand and placed it over her heart.

'They're the same,' the boy whispered, 'everything about them…the same.'

Together the pair sat facing one another, eyes locked and their identical hearts beating as one.

Behind them in the sky of gold, the sun began to set.


	45. Wishing Well Scene 19

History was full of tales where the small or the single carried more meaning and caused more change than the large or the collective. In the world's wars many bullets had flown, mountains of heated metal, but in most cases, there was always a single shot, just one lone projectile, that started the conflict. The giant Philistine, proclaimed 'unbeatable' by generals and warriors alike, fell from a single stone slung by a small boy. And throughout the centuries, when the world's evil cycled round again and the masses all said 'yes' to book burning, slavery, religious persecution, bullying, and homophobia, the real changed occurred with the first loud 'no'.

The past said that the singular and small were anything but.

Not quite a fire of the 'bon' variety, the little campfire never-the-less provided ample light for the small group of friends. With the last splashes of gold fifteen minutes removed from the western sky, the deep pinks and blues mingled with the charging black of night, creating a swirl of color, and possibility. Poems, legends, stories and history immortalized the 'hours of transition' as singular and special; with Dawn, Midnight, and of course Sunset carrying inherent associations with magic, the Divine, and wishes.

The hour had come, the moment was right, and the small group of likeminded creators, dreamers, and heroes needed to fulfill the promise they made to William Schuester and themselves. They had come to the Wishing Well to regain their individuality, to find the 'voice' of New Directions, and to seize the day. Hours had been spent in refreshing confidence with friends growing closer, and strangers growing into friends. The show choir had evolved beyond what they had been just that morning, but they needed to go one step more to complete their journey.

For the day to be a success, each and every member of New Directions needed to share of themselves and make a wish.

'That's how it works here,' Joe said with a smile, the dance of the flames reflected in his eyes.

'So…we, what, tell everyone our wish?' Tina said skeptically.

In a tight circle around the fire, the group learned the protocol of the Well from their guide.

Joe nodded, 'Just say it out loud, and if you want, you can explain it.'

'And this, what, makes us closer?' Sam asked.

'No,' Joe smiled, 'You can't will yourself to be 'closer' to someone, just like you can't make yourself love somebody. You just say your wish to us and the universe…the rest will take care of itself.'

Raising his arms, Joe closed his eyes, 'I'll start.'

A breeze, still warmed by the fading strength of summer, fanned the campfire's flames and Joe's long dreads, blessing both with the beauty of the singularly tasked. The fire split the night and when they hit the dark waters of the Wishing Well, its glow would guide them back to shore; while Hart would guide them to a place of peace…if they allowed him to do so.

'I wish…that someday I can return to this place and bring with me a person that has lost their faith.'

A tear slipped from beneath his closed lid.

'I told you that the last time I was here was with my friend. We loved this place, but…something happened.'

Joe's chin trembled, as the boy fought to control his powerful emotions.

'They stopped believing…in God…in the Wishing Well…in me.'

His eyes, red-rimmed and wet with tears, opened, and the boy some called Teen Jesus smiled.

'My wish is that someday I can return to this place and bring my friend with me…and give them back their faith in God, the Well…'

His strength at an end, Hart's face shook with emotion and his throat closed, preventing him from finishing.

Blaine moved closer and placed his hand on Joe's bare shoulder, a look of 'understanding' holding his handsome features.

'And their faith in you,' Anderson whispered.

Joe nodded, and then hugged Blaine fiercely.

Originally the 'Doubting Thomas' of the group, Tina wiped her own eyes and stepped forward, fully vested in the moment.

'I wish for…' she looked through the fire at each member of their group, 'I wish for 'Passion'. I want to feel like I do right now…I want to feel like this every time we sing. Whether voicing a lead or backing you guys up…you're going to get all of me. That…That's my wish.'

Rory nodded his support and took off his large straw hat, holding it in his hands.

'Family,' the son of Ireland whispered, 'that's what I wish for. I miss my Mom and the rest so bad, but I know that if I was home, I'd miss you guys just as much.'

Reaching over, Sam affectionately messed up Rory's hair, as a brother would.

Laughing, Rory continued, 'So I wish for 'family' my one in Ireland and my one here in the States and that hopefully soon, the two will meet.'

The rest of New Directions nodded, enthralled by the poignant desires of its members that had already professed their wishes.

His arm draped over Rory's shoulders, Sam smiled, his eyes unfocused, deep in thought.

'Youth,' the handsome blond whispered, 'I wish for 'Youth'. I had to turn in my 'kid-card' way too early, so I want a 'do-over'…I want days and moments like this, for as long as I can hold on to them.'

'I wish I could sing through my stupid break without sounding like I'm choking on an oyster,' Sugar scowled from her spot around the flames, 'Oh and that everyone finds out Charlie Booth has a small penis.'

Michael barked out a laugh before he could catch himself. Quickly the boy covered his mouth with his hand, but his eyes still danced with shackled giggles. Mistaking his outburst as a reaction to her blunt statement, Sugar stared at him blankly and offered her patented explanation.

'I have Asperger's.'

'What about you?' Blaine said to Michael, 'What's your wish?'

Michael started shaking his head, not wanting to engage in any more 'bonding' exercises.

'No…nothing…I'm good.'

'Everyone has a wish in their hearts,' Joe said, 'Even if they don't know it. Just say the first thing that pops in your head…no judgments at the Wishing Well.'

Michael started to offer another excuse, to argue his case against inclusion, but his eyes met Nellie's through the flames. For a beat, no more than a flicker of the campfire, they locked gazes, and his 'wish' flashed through his mind.

'I wish I were a 'hero',' Michael confessed still staring at Nellie, 'Like Luke Skywalker or Han Solo. I've wanted that since I was a little boy.'

His eyes left Nellie's and moved to his cousin, 'All my role-models are heroes, so that's my wish…to be more like them.'

Blaine's chin trembled slightly, requiring a swallow and a shake of his head before continuing.

'This might sound corny, but I wish for 'Happiness'…for all of us,' Anderson smiled, 'Like Mr. Schue said, I hope that we can all find as much happiness living our own lives, as we do when we're with our boyfriends and girlfriends. That's my wish.'

'Nellie, what about you?' Artie said from his seat beside the campfire.

Like Michael, Nellie almost succumbed to her old ways and said something benign just to speed the group's attention from her, but ultimately, she opted for one of her honest desires.

'To 'live',' she breathed, 'To be 'seen' by you guys and not some invisible phantom that haunts McKinley's halls. I wish to live in the light, away from the shadows.'

Blake smiled, reassuring Nellie that in his eyes she would never be 'invisible' again. However, the large boy was not quite ready to share his wish.

'Joe, if it's all right with you, I'd like to save my wish for when we reach the Birthday Cake.'

Raising his arms in 'surrender', Hart didn't argue but respected the wants of his new friend.

'I wish for Passion,' Brittany blurted out.

With a glance at Tina, Sam whispered to the Cheerio, 'Do you have another wish, Brit?'

'I wish for Family,' Brittany repeated robotically.

Sam smiled and leaned a little closer to the girl, 'Brit, look at me.'

Slowly, Brittany seemed to 'snap out' of her daydream and turned to stare at Sam. Rolling her big eyes around at the group, she put her head against the boys and whispered directly into his ear, 'I have no idea what is going on.'

'You need to make a wish,' Sam whispered back.

'He didn't make a wish,' Brittany said and pointed at Blake. Immediately the junior boy started to shift in embarrassment.

'No he didn't, Brit, but I think you should,' Sam continued.

'Why?' she challenged him.

'Because out of all of us, you are the one that believed in them before we left on this little adventure.'

Brittany cocked her head, as if in deep thought, when all of a sudden, her face exploded into a pleased smile.

'I wish for a 'surprise',' she stated proudly, 'I want something to happen that has never happened before.'

Sam's broad smile grew, 'That…is a damn fine wish.'

Turning her eyes back to the group, Brittany agreed, 'I know.'

With only one member left, the eyes of New Directions turned to one of their leaders, and as was his way with everything, he did not keep them waiting long.

'Victory,' Artie said into the flames, 'I wish for 'victory'. I don't know if that means another National Championship or something else all together, but I want a 'victory' more than anything. One that I can claim as mine…one that I can put on the…the…the mantle in here.'

The focused boy tapped his chest over his heart.

'With everything, that happened…I'm not sorry for myself. I…I just want to win, dammit. And when I do, I want to be able to look at all of you, punch my fist in the air and scream 'victory' with every ounce of my soul. So, yeah, that's my wish.'

Through the flames, the group looked at each other, smiled and nodded; infused with a deeper understanding of their friends.

Joe moved to the edge of the campfire's light and pointed up toward the side of the Well where the Birthday Cake staked its claim. Looking over his bare shoulder, he winked.

'Only one thing left to do.'

Silently, Blake knelt and scooped up Artie into his arms; while Sam and Blaine moved near, ready to help their friend reach the Birthday Cake.

Without another word, New Directions moved as one out into the night.


	46. Wishing Well Scene 20

Hand-in-hand they hiked, chained together with flesh and faith, like climbers of mountains.

Tina scrambled up a particularly steep incline, grabbed a low hanging branch of a nearby pine, and reached back for the next person in line. Sam's fingers grabbed her offered hand and climbed.

On and on it went, as one, New Directions moved toward the Birthday Cake; a silent army skilled not in the ways of wars but in the fellowship of friends.

The boys took turns carrying Artie, lifting their friend over every obstacle and on to higher ground. Each time, he found himself passed to another of his brothers, Abrams spared a second to squeeze a shoulder and share an embrace. He would've told them how much their efforts meant to him, but Artie's voice could not start without his tears joining in…so he stayed silent.

Joe dashed up a nearly vertical wall of dirt and rock, scrambled at the lip, and finally pulled himself over the edge and onto the wide flat expanse of the Birthday Cake. Beside him, a length of old rope stretched into the darkness, but its age prevented it from being helpful. Instead he crawled on his belly to the edge and reached back into the darkness.

'Jump,' he said to the next person in line, 'and I'll catch you.'

With a grace granted to only a few, Brittany appeared from the black, grabbed Joe's hand, and quickly climbed up and over the ledge. Once over, the Cheerio wrapped her powerful arms around Joe's legs, allowing the young man to hang farther off the edge.

Repeating the process until only Blaine and Artie remained on the lower shelf, Joe reached for his friend with weary arms. Suddenly Blake's hand joined Hart's, ready to help. Looking over, Ryan smiled at his long-haired friend.

'We're tag-team partners, remember?'

Joe's smile lit the night.

'I do indeed, my friend.'

Behind them, Brittany and the others, split their forces between Joe and Blake, keeping each boy steady so they could first grab and then lift Artie to the Birthday Cake.

Blaine widened his stance, preparing to lift Abrams to the two waiting juniors, but before he could, Artie choked out a pledge so full of emotion that all of New Directions felt their throats tighten.

'I love you guys,' Artie cried around his tears, 'I'll never forget this…n…never!'

Kissing his friend's cheek, Blaine lifted Artie the two feet required to reach the extended arms of Blake and Joe.

Hands clasped in the deepest of friendships, Blake and Joe yelled simultaneously.

'We've got him!'

Behind them, New Directions pulled all three up and over the edge, with Brittany snaking in between Blake and Joe to help with the last movement of the transition. In seconds it was over, and Blaine had been lifted up as well.

Together the group turned and looked out over the waters of the Wishing Well.

Their fire blazed off to the left, causing red and orange sparkles to bounce off the nearby water, but the real attraction to the spot was the presence of a 'second moon' in the still surface of the Well. As if Heaven had decided to leave the confines of the horizon and invade the realm of humanity, New Directions was sandwiched between the celestial brilliance of both 'sky' and 'earth'.

'Now that,' Artie whispered, 'is a hell of a view.'

After a few moments, the group's eyes slowly fell on Joe. Sensing their eagerness, the devout young man revealed the last of the Well's traditions.

'Say your wish, at the top of your lungs,' he turned, looked at his friends, and smiled, 'And jump.'

Not one of them questioned Joe. No one asked about the safety of such an act. No one hedged against the forty feet between them and the dark water.

They simply believed.

Suddenly the strangest of statements broke the stillness.

'Its the little girl,' Rory said to Joe in wonder,'Isn't it?'

Several of the other members wrinkled their foreheads in confusion, but Hart's eyes widened at the surprise comment.

Flannagan continued, 'The little girl that made the wish with the steel penny, the little girl that saved her father from the mine and created this place…she owns The Wishing Well now, doesn't she?'

Joe's eyes tilted skyward for just a beat before returning to Rory's.

With a wink, Hart turned…and leapt off the Birthday Cake.

'FAITH!', he screamed into the night before thundering into the waters of the Well.

With the surface disturbed, the moon's reflection became hundreds and thousands of points of light…like the glittering of coins.

Returning to the surface with a loud laugh, Joe beckoned for the next in line.

One by one New Directions jumped and their wishes filled the night.

'PASSION!'

'FAMILY!'

'YOUTH!'

'SONG!'

'HERO!'

'HAPPINESS!'

Before Nellie could move to jump, Blake, with Artie in his arms, gently pulled her out of the makeshift 'line'. Shrugging, Brittany ran and jumped.

'SURPRISE!'

Blake looked at Artie, 'Ready?'

Abrams tucked his glasses into his pocket and rolled his eyes sarcastically at Blake.

'Puh-lease…I didn't come all this way for nothing. Launch me!'

Artie Abrams, the sometimes man-of-steel, flew into the night.

'VICTORY!'

Together, Nellie and Blake watched him hit the water and emerge unharmed, screaming into the night.

'Holy shit that was fun!'

Treading water, the group laughed along with Artie, but quickly looked up to see what was keeping the 'rookies'.

Still standing at the edge of the Birthday Cake, Nellie felt Blake's hands lace into hers, and she turned to look at the boy she loved.

'Now its time for my wish,' the handsome boy said…loud enough for his voice to travel through the still air to the group below.

Releasing her left hand, he touched her face and began to sing.

'_Much as you blame yourself_

_You can't be blamed for the way that you feel_

_Had no example of a love_

_That was even remotely real_

_How can you understand something that you never had_

_Oh baby if you let me_

_I can help you out with all of that'_

Keeping hold of her right hand, Blake dropped to his knees in front of her and looked up into her face.

'_Girl let me love you_

_And I will love you,_

_Until you learn to love yourself_

_Girl let me love you_

_I know your trouble_

_Don't be afraid, girl let me help_

_Girl let me love you_

_And I will love you,_

_Until you learn to love yourself_

_Girl let me love you_

_A heart in darkness_

_Is brought to life_

_I'll take you there!'_

From below, the rest of New Directions started cheering and singing along, adding a perfect background harmony thanks to the Well's favorable acoustics.

At the Birthday Cake, tears sped down Nellie's cheeks, and she shook all over, incapable of comprehending fully what Blake was saying. For someone that thought so little of herself, it was nearly impossible to think another could care so much.

Blake stood and cupped her face with his hands, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

''_I can see the pain behind your eyes_

_It's been there for quite a while_

_I just wanna be the one to remind you_

_What it is to smile, yeah_

_I would like to show you what true love can really do'_

Below them New Directions picked up the power of the song, and Blake leaned his head toward Nellie's.

'_Girl let me love you_

_Girl let me love you baby, oh oh_

_Girl let me love you_

_Girl let me love you baby_

_Girl let me love you_

_Let me love you, let me love you, oh oh'_

Nellie's hands, still shaking, reached up and traced the flesh of first Blake's neck and then his cheeks until finally she cupped his face the way he was holding hers. As one their heads moved closer and closer until their lips brushed one another, and Nellie's voice joined his.

'_**For every heart that beats'**_

And Blake's voice answered,

'_For every heart that beats'_

'_**For every heart that beats'**_

'_For every heart that beats'_

'_**Heart that beats'**_

'_Heart that beats'_

'_**Heart that beats'**_

'_Heart that beats'_

To those that witnessed it, their kiss did not evoke memories or images of the past, nor did it presume to speak of things yet to come. No, as Blake and Nellie's lips met their kiss lived only in the razor-fine heat of 'Now'…where all kisses should exist.

Below them New Directions suppressed their desires to 'cheer' and instead offered their version of 'applause' by continuing the song.

'_Girl let me love you_

_Let me love you baby, love you baby_

_Girl let me love you_

_Let me love you baby, love you baby'_

Nellie's lips pulled back slightly from Blake's, just enough to whisper.

'Jump with me.'

Blake's lips curled into a smile.

'For as long as we both shall live.'

Together the star-joined pair flew into the night.

* * *

(Author's Note: Needed some fun after last night's episode. Song: Let me love you by Ne-Yo)


	47. Wishing Well Scene 21

Belongings collected, New Directions stood on the Wishing Well's 'beach' of pebbles, collectively saddened by what seemed to be the end of a day that would forever live in each of their memories. No one chit-chatted, and no one's focus wandered; they were each saying goodbye in their own way.

All except for Michael.

The would-be hero was staring at his phone, and his eyes seemed to glisten in the glow of the blue screen. Without service, the device couldn't connect him to anyone back in the real world, but what it lacked in interpersonal telephonics, it made up for in 'inner communications'. Methodically, he kept swiping between four pics, captured, not by his hand, but left for him to find, by the only person that knew who and 'what' he really was.

The first pic showed the rich dark soil of the forrest not far from where he stood, and written in the loose ground was one simple yet absurdly complex statement.

'_Who R U?'_

His thumb drug forth the next pic, which showed Charlie's camera resting on his towel.

His dark eyes flickered, as if looking at the device for the first time. Slowly he swept away the image and revealed a pic of another simple message written in the black earth.

'_Or'_

Finally, his thumb ushered forth the last picture. Again his eyes sought each and every detail of the image, as if he saw it with a stranger's eyes. In the picture, frozen for all time, he and his cousin were in the middle of their Footloose performance…smiles so identical in appearance and sincerity on each of their faces.

Again he returned to the first pic and shuffled through the sequence hoping to reach, not one of his 'contacts'…but instead, himself.

'_Who R U?_

_Croparrazi _

'_Or'_

_New Directions _

* * *

Closer to the shore, the rest of the group pulled closer, waiting for the next and final part. The Goodbye.

'So this is it,' Blaine whispered into the magic stillness of the night air.

'Not quite,' Joe replied in an equally reverent tone.

Reaching into his large knapsack, Hart produced a small flashlight for everyone and distributed them. When finished he turned to Artie and nodded.

From the back of his quad, the senior smiled.

'We came here to find our voice and to grow closer. We've seized the day…now its time to Carpe Nocturnum.'

Brittany immediately went to her cellphone but stopped when she realized that 'Google' was beyond her reach.

'Seize the Night,' Michael said as he joined the group, taking a spot beside Nellie.

Artie smiled, and Joe handed a flashlight to the sophomore, unifying New Directions with the promise of 'illumination'.

'That's right,' Abrams said, 'Now we finish Mr. Schue's assignment and we take our place as one group…one voice. We will seize this night and take it with us, as we leave the Wishing Well.'

Sam's eyes narrowed in pleasure.

'You want to sing…don't you?'

Artie nodded, 'Together, for the first time…with our new voice.'

Tina stepped forward, 'Let the song go where it wants, let the notes find our strength. When a 'lead' is found, back it up, and when a transition occurs, flow…like water.'

'Just like the Well,' Rory said in a hush.

They all nodded.

'Joe,' Artie said to their guide, 'You are the one that brought us here and gave us this day. You start us off…and lead us home.'

As penitent as the soul he possessed, Hart bowed his head, his lips moving in a silent prayer of thanks and strength.

'Joe,' Tina interrupted him.

The boy looked up.

'Use your 'outside voice'', the senior smiled.

Again Joe nodded, but this time he turned his head skyward and closed his eyes.

'Lord, thank You for this moment. Thank You for the company of friends. And if it be Your will, grant us the song of Angels and lead us home. Amen.'

Several of the others nodded in shared appreciation of the sentiment, and the group started to move toward the trail home. But before Nellie could join them, a hand closed over her shoulder.

'Wait,' Michael whispered.

She felt her body start to shake again, with the thought of their previous encounter, but as soon as she looked into the boy's eyes, it did not worsen…and slowly began to recede.

Reaching into his bag, the sophomore produced Charlie's camera, opened the side compartment, and revealed its memory card. Without warning, Michael released Nellie, turned…and threw the device high over the waters of the Wishing Well. Moving forward, Baker's eyes grew wide with wonder, as she watched the camera spin lazily in the night air. Beside her, Michael smiled, and for the first time in his life, he felt…heroic.

With a nearly silent 'splash', the camera touched the water, causing the moon's reflection to break into a million 'stars'…and then it was gone.

Michael turned to Nellie and opened his mouth, having so much to say, but instead he opted for the Cliff's Notes version.

'Thank you.'

Without another word, the boy moved away from her and joined Blaine, a smile on both of their faces.

Reaching into her own pocket, Nellie pulled forth the dull penny given to her by her Papa. Kissing the copper, she made her wish and threw the coin with all of her might. With even less pomp and circumstance than the camera, the penny disappeared beneath the small waves.

Into the deep, the little coin slipped, fluttering like a tarnished bronze bird on one last flight. The large silhouette of an ancient, abandoned crane appeared on the right, while the short bulk of heavy trucks from decades past gathered on the left. Finally, the little disk settled into the silt of the Wishing Well's floor, causing a small 'puff' of the loose soil to rise into the water. When the area finally cleared, the copper coin rested quietly beside another coin…an ancient steel penny, given long ago from a daughter to a father.

Back on the shore, that place between the world of magic and science, Nellie smiled and turned away. A moment later found her hand in Blake's, as they started down the trail and toward the next chapter of their story.

(Author's Note: Sorry for the delay :( I hope to get the next scene up tomorrow. Thanks again for all the great, kind words...I hope you like the ending I have planned ;) )


	48. Wishing Well Scene 22

Still wearing nothing above his waist but his scripture-inked-skin, Joe triggered his flashlight and lifted the beam heavenward; perhaps he signaled to the Almighty, perhaps he lifted his light like a conductor's baton, or perhaps he simply lent the moment a measure of significance that they all so fervently felt. Regardless of his reasons, the others followed suit, and soon twelve flares of light shot skyward.

Converted by the unifying powers of the Wishing Well, New Directions had rediscovered their faith, not in a deity, but in themselves…in the 'possibility' that this group, though different than its predecessor, could be just as powerful. In their hearts they knew who they were, all that remained was to 'show' it.

Sam, Blaine and Tina moved to flank Joe; their lights still pointed to the clear night sky.

As one, the group lowered their flashlights until the beams targeted Joe Hart, dancing like wil-o-wisps along his skin. With his own beam still raised, Joe inhaled and smiled, alive beneath the gazes and lights of the others.

'_Some nights I stay up cashin' in my bad luck_

_Some nights, I call it a draw_

_Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle _

_Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off'_

Tina, Sam and Blaine's powerful voices joined Joe's, filling the entire mountain top with the power of love and trust.

'_But I still wake up, I still see your ghost_

_Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for_

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhh'_

Joe looked around at the group, his song honestly asking.

'_What do I stand for?'_

Blaine moved beside the younger boy and repeated the question.

'_What do I stand for?'_

Again Sam, Tina, Blaine and Joe continued as one.

'_Most nights, I don't know anymore…'_

Suddenly the newest among them, Nellie, Blake, and the former spy, Michael, entered the song in a harmony so pristine, their voices seemed lifelong friends.

'_Ohhhhhh, woah, ohhhhhhh, ohhhhhhh'_

And then, they all sang, together as one flawless voice.

'_Ohhhhhh, woah, ohhhhhh, woah, oh woah oh oh'_

Fresh in body and soul united, New Directions marched down the mountain along the same trail they had climbed earlier that day. With just the short passage of time, the course of so many lives had been altered and deepened. Joe's wish had come to pass. Individual notes no more, they had become something believed impossible just a day earlier; they had become…a song.

With each step of their synchronized march, half of the flashlight's beams flashed to Heaven while the other half targeted the singers, in this case the seniors, and with every footfall the lights switched places, creating a kaleidoscope of illumination and possibility.

Blaine clenched his fists, closed his eyes and sang.

'_This is it, boys, this is war, what are we waiting for?'_

The 'spotlights' and the 'lead' shifted to Brittany.

'_Why don't we break the rules already?'_

Tina's voice rose while the others backed her up.

'_I was never one to believe the hype'_

Sam slid into the flow.

'_Save that for the black and white'_

Together Evans and Cohen-Chang belted the next line.

'_I try twice as hard and I'm half as liked'_

Finally Artie brought them home.

'_But here they come again to jack my style'_

Down they came; a blend of song, light, youth, love and raw power. Like the beams from their flashlights, the energy of their charged voices licked over them like St. Elmo's fire, granting them the look of otherworldly creatures: warlocks, faeries, and elves. They were no longer the offspring of the cruel world below.

Now, now they were the children of the Wishing Well…brothers and sisters all.

Then the one that had grown the most; the one so long an invisible child, of the dark and forgotten spaces of life, found the strength to step forward into the warmth of eleven spot lights.

Nellie's haunting, Herculean voice climbed to the place that it was destined to inhabit…the lead.

'_**That's alright…that's alright**_

_**I found a martyr in my bed tonight**_

_**Stops my bones from wondering just who I, who I, who I**_

_**A-a-a-am, oh who am I, m-mm, m-mm.'**_

Tina watched Nellie sing and she knew. Just as Rachel Berry had risen to front New Directions with her technically perfect voice, Cohen-chang now knew that she was witnessing the same ascension but with a voice driven not by measure and perfection but by pain and power. A tear travelled down her cheek, a tear not for what Nellie's voice meant for her own desires but one of joy, for having witnessed something so perfect and profound.

Blaine felt it too. Like a shooting star across the winter's sky, Nellie was impossible to ignore. The senior swallowed, a smile grew across his handsome face, and his head nodded slowly. He knew exactly what this meant for New Directions. Just as the Warblers had allowed their leads to surface organically so too had Nellie come to rise among them.

Moving behind Baker, Tina and Blaine motioned for the others to do the same. The song had chosen it's 'lead'.

Blake moved directly behind Nellie and placed his hand on her shoulder, an act of love and physical support. He wanted her to know he was there…that they were all there…for her.

Nellie hadn't realized what was going on until the others had gathered in formation behind her. Instinctually she started to shy away to leave the lead to the others…to return to the shadows, but with a glance into Tina's eyes and the touch of Blake's hand on her skin, she held her ground. Blaine grinned and nodded his head down the trail. He was telling her to lead them home in song and fact.

Turning, the girl of shadow, exploded into light...the very vision of an angel, as the beams of all the others erupted around her.

'_**Well some nights I wish that this all would end**_

'_**Cause I could use some friends for a change**_

_**And some nights I'm scared you'll forget me again**_

_**Some nights I always win… I always win**_

_**But I still wake up, I see your ghost**_

_**Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for'**_

From the Well, they marched, with Nellie in the lead. Just as Blake held the shoulder of the girl he loved, the rest of New Directions followed suit until everyone had a hand resting on the person beside or in front of them. Beats later, the trail opened and their vehicles appeared.

In another first, Nellie spun and grabbed Blake's hand, pulling him close to her, while the others flowed around the pair forming a circle of light.

Her hand climbed to his face, and her fingers traced his strong jaw.

'_**The other night, you wouldn't believe the dream I just had about you and me**_

_**I called you up but we'd both agree'**_

Blake cupped her face in his hands, and his chin trembled as he sang.

'_Its for the best you didn't listen'_

Nellie sang next, continuing the give-and-take of their duet.

'_**Its for the best we get our distance'**_

'_Its for the best you didn't listen'_

'_**Its for the best we get our distance'**_

As the song trailed to a close, Nellie and Blake's lips met in the middle of ten flashlight beams.

Cheers filled the space, as New Directions applauded the discovery of new love.

Tina moved beside Artie's quad and whispered.

'You know what this means, right?'

'What's that?' Abrams said, fearing that his friend was about to lament the potential loss of leads or liken Nellie and Blake to the now absent Rachel and Finn.

Tina smiled, 'It means we're going to have one hell of a year.'

Smiling in relief, Artie looked up at his former love.

'Indeed, my friend, the continuing adventures of Mr. Schuester…and his Immortals.'

As they laughed, a cold breeze blew up from the valley below.

(Author's Note: So, so sorry for the delay but the storm and an illness kept me from writing :( But I hope to be back on a regular schedule from now on. Thanks to everyone for their kind words and support! I can't tell you how much I missed this! See you all very, very soon ;) Song: Some Nights by fun)


	49. Wishing Well Scene 23

Mapped against the blackness of the unknown and unexplored, the stars above acted as millions of silent witnesses to the events far below them. They didn't judge or offer advice…they just watched, as they had for eons. However, at that moment, the stars found themselves under observation, as the eyes of Michael Liston tracked them from his spot in the back of Brittany's Jeep.

Beside him, Sugar slept on the shoulder of a very aware and uncomfortable Rory Flanagan. Michael smiled as the Irishman kept glancing down at the sleeping face of the girl; his eyes lingering longer with each glance. To be honest, he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous that Rory had the courage, albeit limited, to actually make physical contact with Sugar. Michael figured he'd be slick with flop sweat had he been in a similar role. Hell, just sitting next to Motta had him tense; some 'hero' he was turning out to be.

With the thought, the sophomore pulled his smart phone out and again flipped through the photographic montage provided him by his very own Jiminy Cricket. From the stars to the trailing Tacoma, Michael shifted his gaze to the vehicle ahead. The darkness limited his view but every few seconds the Jeep's headlights would silhouette the passengers of the leading truck, and he could make out the short cropped Nellie Baker among the rest of the gathered shadows. Again he glanced down and was met with her question…'the' question of the proverbial hour.

'Croparazzi' or 'New Directions'?

At that exact moment, his phone, returned to life by the nearby cell tower, began to vibrate in his hand. Nellie's pictures were replaced by the identity of the incoming call: 'Mom'. With a nervous glance at the completely distracted Rory beside him and the oblivious Brittany and Sam in the front seats, Michael swept the face of his phone and answered his 'Mom'.

'Hi…Mom,' he spoke lowly into the wind of the late summer night.

'Sweetie, its so good to hear your voice!', Charlie Booth nearly squealed in exaggerated glee.

'I'll be home soon. Blaine said he'd give me a ride home,' Michael continued the charade on his end.

'How lewd,' Booth purred, 'What will McKinley say?'

Michael shifted the phone to his other ear and his eyes narrowed at the pseudo-threat.

Sensing Liston's irritation through the phone, Charlie quickly switched the mood.

'Seriously though, man, I missed you. Mass Effect isn't the same without my wingman.'

Michael smiled and lowered his voice, 'That's because no one else will save your ass when you get in trouble.'

Laughter flooded through the phone, 'Ain't that the truth!'

'Enough with the pillow talk, Mikey, wait to you hear what I did last night,' Charlie continued.

'I…,' Michael interrupted, 'I lost your camera. The damn thing fell in the filthy mudhole where they took me. I almost fell into the cess pool myself!'

Waiting for the chastising he knew he would receive, Michael readied several more lies with which to satiate the incredibly intuitive leader of the Croparazzi.

'Shit…don't worry about it, man,' Charlie honestly replied, 'I never should've sent you with those thesbionic douche bags anyway.'

Michael's eyes widened in disbelief.

With the silence, Charlie continued, 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah…Yeah,' Michael stammered, 'I was just really upset I lost your camera. I'll pay you back.'

'The Hell you will,' Charlie laughed, 'Losing a camera is what I get for wasting your Saturday, especially when you hear what I did last night…dude, you're going to shit.'

Trepidation tickled the corners of Michael's eyes. He had heard that 'excitement' in Booth's voice before…usually right before he launched something big.

'What did you do?' Liston dared to ask.

Charlie's eagerness oozed from the phone, blanketing the tone of his voice with a childlike reverence.

'You know that file of Ryan's you lifted from the front office?'

Remembering the incident vividly, Michael couldn't control his gaze from drifting up to the leading Tacoma and Blake's silhouette. Anxiety and regret began to eat into the lining of his stomach.

'Yeah,' he whispered, 'I'm following you.'

Charlie cackled with the exuberance of one wholly committed to the exquisite joy found in Villainy.

'SO…I found the name of his old school in his file, and for shits-and-giggles I looked it up on the Internets. Guess what I found?'

Michael licked his lips nervously, 'What?'

'Ryan went to some crazy expensive private school that makes Dalton look like a Taliban recruitment center. I was floating around the school's website, when I saw it…a chatroom. It looked like it was originally there so the students could discuss academics with their teachers but it had been bastardized into another social media outlet. So…I logged on.'

Shifting his phone back to his other ear, Michael looked again at the the other travelers in the Jeep before continuing.

'W-what did you find?'

'I KNEW you'd be excited!' Charlie misread the sophomore's stammer, 'Dude, check this shit out! Ryan split and didn't tell anyone where he was going. He closed his Facebook account and deleted all of his e-mail addresses. Hell he even disconnected his phone! None of his old friends have heard from him since before he moved! How screwed up is that!'

'Pretty screwed up,' Michael whispered, his eyes still on the vehicle ahead, 'How'd you get them to talk to you?'

'Mmmm,' Charlie started to answer before finishing his latest sip of coffee, 'shit I'm so excited I just spilled that on my Eurythmics shirt!'

'The red one?' Liston asked absently.

'Hell yes the red one! Damn, Annie I'm sorry,' Charlie said as sounds of scrubbing floated over the phone, 'Anyway, yeah…I just showed them that pic I snapped of me and Ryan on the first day of school. They were so desperate for info that they never questioned it. Besides, I'm a charmer, Mikey…I've got skillz to pay the billz.'

'What did you tell them?' Michael dared to ask.

'HA…everything!', Charlie proudly proclaimed, 'You should've heard his old friends when I told them he had joined a glee club. Do you know that they didn't even know he could sing! Apparently in New York his was just another goddamned boring athlete with more money than God.'

The last part of Booth's statement trailed off a bit, as if the boy's voice wouldn't grant equal volume to a declaration that proclaimed another family richer than his own.

'But here's the best part,' Charlie purred into the phone, 'They were all very, very interested to learn of little miss Penelope Baker, so I sent them one of our pictures of her.'

Michael's eyes widened in horror, 'You don't mean the ones from…the rain, do you?'

'Hell yes I mean one of the ones from the rain!' Charlie barked in exasperation, 'Why do you have other pics I don't know about?'

'N-no, its just that…those pics are sort of…' Michael searched for the proper way to phrase his statement, a way that wouldn't alert Charlie to his change of heart.

'Sexy as hell? Raunchy? Raw? All of the above, right!' Charlie interrupted.

'Right,' Michael whispered, and his head lowered.

'Oh yeah, I made a lot of new friends…a LOT!' Charlie crowed in triumph, 'In fact, I made sure I sent my new friends a 'turn-by-turn' to get to Lima.'

Michael's face paled, 'You…didn't.'

'I did!', Charlie wailed, 'Dude, hurry up and get over here, when you get back. We've got to get everything ready on our end because Mr. Blake Ryan's Past is en route…and it is coming in HOT!'

'What do you mean?' Michael questioned.

The sophomore actually 'heard' Charlie's shark's grin 'grow'.

'No way…I'm keeping that surprise for when I see you. Let's just say that despite our differences, Blake owes me one.'

Michael's phone vibrated, alerting him that Charlie had hung up. With the call ended, his old screen returned displaying the pics Nellie had left for him.

'Croparazzi' or 'New Directions'?

Looking back to the stars in the sky, Michael suddenly felt very, very small.

And the air grew colder.

* * *

(Author's Note: My continued and eternal thanks to all of you for your kind words and support. And for Funkst...like Charlie said Blake's past is coming in hot and so is a new character ;) )


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